.Ui’i ' 1 1 1 ) M»U' ' »»l>ll»)iilu J .41 . Ki HUM Hi I IJ-LH 

i-lilM rl U|)ili|H>^ J<H V/H'-’Ui 1 f J i ♦ » » I' <•' i » * • >1 >h *1 ' ‘.J U > 


pti H'U 

ilti U«- 




rJ iri t m 

4 M ' ■ 


iuiwi+j ^nai^.puuwfr. 


ijj I V »ji iUtP p “ 1 - 1 1 ' <>w <ii M ‘ 
^»< ■ . i u li ti is;' > i i/H i-H < u>>J i '• 

p »v J\ > H jlLj |» t ni ‘ ‘ if tUit »!'•'-*.» I >i 

i-rf-nti-M tHi-f 


I'i > M 
f» f H m 


VP>'-j » 'ini tii j *1 UlUt ll ijif it Hu 
I'j ii >1 


U < U’> i 



»»>inVvi4 

^»JI. >i4-f :> 

/ />•«! 


Mf* 

>» f Hf. »i rJ ' i li i-t.|i 1 

-Mf ijfcl tH -Ju .. 


+ i.i»i:j4VJRiJU lrb» KJ, V S' , , . I. L J M f I H W W I- H, t “ * W, t niP puHfhui^wauptniiifJa^i 


: I if-VJj.J K 



' " Mt’.''uouj. i. , tPi f/rnHsI t4i*t^i4-i''rf '•fMt-Ui 

- ’ H'l • i ; Ijij' H ' M U iK> i;<'ijf> l-»i u » .1 -T - I u 


* ' ••• u»rf.r7iUr^Vfv ^'* 

i. u )*H :/ ny--»*‘ i ai ini; 


*I‘J 
U> - l-J*- 


, , r- » * >WU 


.It I- If -Jii.^M ( ;i), tif 'HI iKIhiM) U| i. Hiiij*' (J Jj. lin i-' Wl Hf t t-l Ulii tl'iM P ll < f 1 u f[ i 1 ,. t n . KHf.ulii p.jii>!ii3fJ,UU :l !()?»»* iUl *ill ‘ 




H.fJjij l►^/,■I^:^ ,i-H'H; i-.ui>-t ...‘U H'U I 

H'H';. .fH;i«l UHVHH «'Hl-.iJ4 ti’MpLl', 


fUf 

Nft sjl.if! il 

p-yrH^ 
OU'HJ'HU 

>U|iii. tl |i if >» 

Hl-i 1 iifi/ H- 

tl » »• ^Vhh 


c».rLl 


I HjiP f Mil 

I vJt>iH-iM» 

;;-';|.i,j,)},i. 


HiJHMUiaV 
pKiiMlHH 
>Mii|i 

Uhu 




' P ji i H » r I / ii i J MI W l♦iJ 

.i f iJ J j.« IH< M i J '-l f4'f f 
FMLliil h. Ipi. ll I f 4t0}J 


rpi 

*Mi Hip fill HfJ-fiMmUKKuii-i 

(4M >*’ M wMiffii- 

J44'»4i-f4iiHUfH4 

ih 


lUlh.lpl. Il l 
Ma*!*;!. Mi Ilf 
IM i-iicH t*« ifj ;Jf 

.li u p 

MIIW 


I uu M I* u U fJ JtrlfHi hM »*' ^4 . 

MiH l 1.1 .-/Hi.Hi>Kiif 4f’ I 'M MV.‘J44 


-H»MSfH»^' i»H4fniH4<HH4'- 1 > » M> uiru iiUu-M’U »4i m 4 ,'Uf 

up tfM.lJ M>4 j 4 i u' if W) 1 Hji 51 ^i»K’ Vii'4i l-ijil « 

-u.r..' -_*i^.ffi lH<v.4-vi.'MHf4^T-.^j;;:ji.4’-if|.f<*. i liK ^ H ij > 

, '■•f'Hi’ rtM Uvili'l f iM>Hu 


■>J' L> I 4 ‘'Ui-1 1,1 M tl fj 


i I i» m? . tMt'.f Iff 

4|'>|»4^iHiU.4.'fH<|4'.ti.H tin. 

I**, Mf f-H Hi.'- pfi w k'^->H sit 

{i;i} 4 H • -^ .. /. . I i.4, t, ^ , , , 4 ^ > 

- -fij'f HiA v^ilu^Vw-vA-tni-i. » \Ui>M 


KPi^iJ ’Hi4 v^i4UMVw'iA't/t4- 

4-f I F»rw U • Hjllf ffi 


- j t- a 1 1 M' U .'> viV r j ‘T M < . >i7T4-*i 1 1 >4, • 
4 M i *4^' M i ij 


i *4 I4H » i 1 , 14 h i 

4 ‘f .W.fii‘4{-ni'fK/i», Uhwp-.vfmh 
1 1 i I * I ? 'J • 4i wViip: 11 ^ 1 , 
M l'f>H sltJr.l^ 4 '1 
■ uui., uHilvV/>M>i^fV 

» k#i4/4 . r l»i ,/7 J.:i litU’ 

>i^ H.fLiH . 11^1 !H* »■• -»! HiUf, 

♦ >l^s -.Ui, ).i> vijl i.^K 


^ 1 . U‘.J 'il-ffft , :■: Iff U >4I1,I'J«U J.SM mm •. SJ #1 . --*^rrv. 

kifi'rf tjTf'V u^-f'HH4f>vf UvH • uv Ijp,l ' ‘'•P H p 


J j H ^ I '* ■* 1 i H < I i Jir J } M 
*».- Vij ri» * M-i. f 

M U ■: 71 ),> I i-' -ru W Mi-n rtr H 


i V 'f ft- ■ "r ' ‘ f‘” ' uci.ri -n !• fi> :'f-‘ f' “ hi'.k ■ u:)h fFK**f* ‘•’*^ fc^f i-u /i.u j uu 

pA-k>M-(> l-‘ 4 ! f J mJM i.lf (fi 

HvH V u4pH*^^'4ivJ*P*fip44HvC‘>S4Wf/j»>^ •ku kku J J HHhJj i liJ-.fT-Un f vl >1 




UU * tH Ml» 
M t,'i» H H 
;ii7lIH-Uvr 
J^{|i H 

Iui.>hu*j4h i. 

tfi>V7«K. Ml 
u I'M 91 viM ' » 1 ' 

1*17 ilirH u-,- > ' I 
w. .i w<-» iJjij nui ■• u 
HI' 1 "‘-‘'M u-^ ? I /-» 
fcMM I H M 5 ri I* •) 
.f’H'M >-4H J'l-.iM ’ - 1 
•Vf,HuUJ»»-iu '• M 
^*p;ruM-'v^-v» 

£$^^ 1 14 '.J fl { > ' 




■' ‘M ‘ ••A. V|'l' ' ru r p*" » ’f 'K * ' *1 I r ^’ *^'' ' '■' "• » •• 'lA '.f. f. »• M 1 » 1 .« > > •4 ;.» 

IM'" ■'•(.•ti H h ' HJl 

M'-fMH-'i'’ »\fU M l.'H'*'-' *r i*' ' -' Mr /' ' ' Mill ( M; -> MjJ ; . 

MU " 1> i/tl i> i «>'?;> Ml» uiM rMtrti fin ittlMI-ril* j Vu if; m{mi 

kff -> { I HfWKkftltt-i.uiHpfVrpitfniU H M If H I Ijfjvi UJ 



MViA'IH.U, 
■U--.l',li.. 


l»\,fM>. M» {4M< 


?./' Mjf P'M'iMf i'/ii-'i.A'i^l.iM mMP.Mmu*. Uirtflf f' "414 »iM U-» Vfrlp / f »i> Hp;*- 

i>u, 4^A#*p7Mt:l lAMkivHH i'WAhkvMf u'p.iHUfi tM lii iutikHii 1 j 4 Mp-s vf.MHM-iiM 

MfM* .'h-Hlj.l I'hfl HbHpVvllUUl 


hhuih 


■niMAf 




lit 


ciiiAi'j ll tlL»l 


ypsIHii 


kv/l'' 

•v/i ! I.; 

i'V.'Hii'H/iiu-.ti.fvibiu tjf>,.i.<; i,H‘>j 


|M>»»liU!Ji; i J ;» iH 



«i: 


4’iHkj 


:vlfi 


t-k >. M UH tfii i/tfMm ■ MpiiivMn t4 ih nHrHiJj. PMMiM.rH' i4 tt m-uipvKj- liitf'fHf't'Wvf f 
t»li4r IH ^L^t|;■Wl4>'.pv/-I^lAt^ W»^^W^.-L/|4 / *■' »»>W * ’ .->7. .iMPMtHifiMlH ^^PF^bl^rf>{-■‘lU^ vj M »4i/M w ‘ui iM 

’ HH/' ^'f ' ' Will tiM'if’Wit'nt'-MbfM'jf; r i II 7H "r>» MM* H.4i>bi,!i.l'JuJ iMiKui'Jflri- ■ -^ ■' ’ r f . . 1. « , 

>."^'^411 HP') ^•^'•s-^^i4tH*rt*»‘♦- tMf!it7'.*V»M,>W)i-.'i)*i 
»h«t» -HlrtMVfyp hV'-M i;» .\/r 




1 r'^tJU). 
(■W |4pU4J 
'IjJAt M'i'f ti 
/tirt.7u'/tn 


ifiMvUpM' 
iiMM i) M'' 
ili»t)<m'r 
i H ••) t»)Uu 

Cl.. ^:.r-,.-»- ftMHinOM.' U 

' f il » if'M.Mjt W fi'l-t IJ vt M 1 1 v4 »4 i 7H H '“I 
»1i>ff'l»j.’Ml'l 

li fHttii./ uUft-^iJ M M Mt 





I ffnJMthUf M tfr KlAtt^l 
ntHHi- 


* at*!^ 4 v)»H I VH »M 




rf'Urnii'i 


1 -b I » ♦ H I > Ki v't ir> 


M !4 


ft) \JUi4iH4 KIIW 

H'l VM,1Hal4t 
Ml .-.I if» 

\ ‘l'•!l•Al I ' I . >Kl 


t-t^i PU>'7tli*f|;M.u J .MMnApH/ 

<w MM'^chl iMtiii'tiV-'i'MvUt 


/iHupi7».*i-U'»ifM»M7iMVMrl fri 
M4wMiu.i 1 ) :, H)i 'rni' iWwPtf 'li f 




, MOM 


M ,.*uuvip4 i 
vrliviTHnirMpMiMH 

i>il\tiJ )h-r I iiliii uH 

f l-ir-.i Ml 

ji iv; H M MMi-i i M> ’.4 mM» M4^. »> •-■ 1. 1 > 
dKmVMh ukhhMm ' iivfM'M ■«■•’ MM» *M ‘ ' 
tjt ,'J',l MtHii-'l vuj.) ■ fp M uu t> 

i»>^? M. • ' :. 

I) I tl U7 , : ; sn 1 J ‘ > M 


vitHMMt ‘ IM MMnuj .■•UXI-IUM.# ■ 

-. f) pvfl-' I'lMli’b fi-uM jfiyi! >f ■.>>;) v> ^ I 'I. 
itffit* r> j^fk'iiH r>4 1 • iMtiu 


itMMi'rb'-'t 
I Inh 


:i! 


»i;wKAiw Ji fJ-rwf ftiMM 

•Ui.KbH t> M’btl 


iviiifni UHW kvHJ 


!*• »MM >)-■•' I IH-IM-Mi M.fctfu’ ) i-rjMDfpl.i-UijBi i'HilfiU'il 
nn;l‘ru>»).jt.s (nivrtHuvifvt^.k’ij'yiHMRi 

)f I I 'l I tl tM.J •; ;■! I Iff ; 'I v*. 1 . 1 1 /» H.t I ►<* i I'iit r*4l-vl 




iiPI-. Mi-i "'luiplilriiH-l'.* 


’. ’ 'vriMHnuH4i,.,>-*^i>i|MM.r- 1 • I <H t i 4 Ml Ivh* ■thti lUmf tf W .0 
fv - .vv) M »j u»rMi.T.'Ui.ii K. M f-Mf-M.vl'mi f i Cl ‘Afyi4iiw»HHi'ttAt> 
M ‘Uj. JH Ht 4 ‘ ;ri.»” ', VI MMf7U74ir)j! »iA-l4t,ki>>ir,:fi' PMP 


Mm > I .-» I ii'H hm i» vM »»f phyt iJiiMfi *•• »k' 
MMr/iA-l 4« .-yti U I >i‘bM':»r / » (4 Ifl 7 »m lyl tM. 
MI^M Kf M b ft • Mil b>i -.'ll f M‘ ’I I v> I M IV 


'UH- 

'. 1 . M 
. 4 f I ~' 


. if » I u I J 
M ;l • I i l‘< I 
^^ ■ ,j '■ I n I i 


H'lv ;,| i.l fi i>y. iiM U t » •• 

, I . U 1 >i t M t t-luM M ( n rU,' 

VM'nU ;t , I ii )H ' > l-i » ,1 • j M 

iMlPt . iM-fM ) IMlKiH' »H M vv' 7 ,fv> 1 ,»1 1 ■ ‘ ' u 

. ,, t»r;i I f.ri’i t»i v4;>^ t H It . i: il»iH> *<I’I 

btiJ^ru-b M/M* f M. i-» I t-f-P- V s 


1 1 


b»bM trihVi rlHr ... •>. i*»i'im u r* 

iKl'Hi>M«bnVM444i7,|rH.Up<vHUfMiiv'VMMV^ttV>«btr;ii4{ (wIvm 94 V, biMfUi.ip i/virif.'u^M.u- -". '■ 

HbMi’ -V^ tbrMiM i/H'mMMMpkMTiiMviMi hM*MIhH 4 fb.»J-*"'H4M ; ‘MamH 1 1 *viM u H 'H. u' ‘•\ u ' uni • > • ' •• 

*' ' ’■”7 M’-bM' U'hf 4*411 p ' 1 1 , h ^ mh > 5 . 1 '! i" f u . • 

W'tVfP^.bM; |i 7 UI’ M'M uU- iiMM m t'.;! '7 h . n^i r‘’'rv;‘' m H ' '»■■»'• '• 




M'-vtHf'H'AV1A-»Vr^4M 
it{« I'u/lv.lvuHf 


I'iifUjH'iM Ifv h>ftrtM»4.t -f.Mfc/MinUtH 


r'* vHt ill 

1 : 


i;i;; 


l» It , 4 I , If .-Hft f l 

I”. 'j>H fi n 

rM Mirtri- h ►MtJ-'r'i sff»l*-il>. Mi Hij »t» 1 .' 

tJM V» 1 1 IHli 

M l44^«>iHHHM>^i|tl ■' “■ ' ■ 


•t/vl 

..ill 


'ill 


'm/ . 
►mMMh 


■HIJ 


jrM I.. k 

tf4«rMM>)17U 


mM H h hi) 

t itri 

It* '^m/ M»; 


il-iii VMi-H'f 


7H'fM;ib7i.)i 


fD^'pl* k| 4) ftMMMUtMb hMmm V'lvi M' ■<' M^Mt U u If ' 

U i» hhM t ''tl tiulf UM '-i;.' t \ Mvjt Mru’ »'•’ i M I M 4* '. 

I Mtui M H ; M-tt H f Mi.hmxVi i4 ium i m jM; «i i* i .»^i.. i > u u' 


.fiiiOHrii sfi'uj f4'» ,'.f iirii-- 
•fH.MVI'|inittUk'M •I'VMTHVI 




rv4l-tfy\i >\ ‘ n» n-f 7v'«j H . i jLf . 


I'l fvM‘ «'it»U))t^ 


f I M »)Mi it' »H t ' 
iMfc, ubtwsH-^' ■ 


Mil Mfl I iliUf TM «.f il I 
; lur) if-ii M ’• (4 M »n» tu 
' I u wVj M' 




Mt«4nt(7 (|i« > VI(4H>.7Mtf t(7fl71) )tvr7 ^4 Ij.fetifMM-Vl «rf4 cHiim 

■M l4ii Mllitfkii •>!.)•< I -4-Mtl ! I wH fJ ‘Ht ).r»i.At*-Vk1 i lii lAl UM 

itf M kMn4*fM if»M MVi».H>ti»l)rV'! ifidU 

'M I niiMilOlfcpyF'VtVM'i lir*>4 

»H:t| u t|,i4 «,) tfli HUM»j,t4M'.< lMiviil4 »'« 



171 7»r>b,l)-tiHit M 


<l<r I' 


i U'>ihI#»-i 


HiflMM 


o I ' H >.)fc 

i l l f'H tffj ' (.iM 4jif 


until' » 
fMiittiiji 


4 V417t)t-fii PhM M 


Mi-*)"* mm'M lift I •' fi' 

Mill MH‘f ‘-Iti i »')*'' t 

tuVfMMMftli'pAlM I HHl' Alltel vr'Miji4lrMn-r H tiiri'>i7 -i m vm 't‘( I 

t-Yf M Mi j JirVi-lf.ttMf^bbHwtlrtV' ' *'y<7Af,fc».H» i %t nyf »,'4U , > 7*M m '-’■•» t t p ) ' ” '■' 

4.i<Jwtk4 Lwlit A I i)vfll«44» 4JWiW^ 


LcclklbC I •>Vi ^1114 »>l Til MV^ 




Class'H 





Unn k.l'C S f 



GpightN?. 


CDEmiGHT DEPoiarr. 




/ 



HEARTS AND THE CROSS 



S 







' IK-'^ ' 

■» 



‘ V .C ' 


w; V 




- 


i; 


/* ' • ■---» 


= *:V 









I , 




.* ' *' 


ihj- 
• I < 

» - .f* 




k« 


. . ; ; 1 4 U 


i ‘ 'tp.ei- -- 

*, M P'. ^ - . V ; 

.J 7 ».- S^ , ■-.**' 


f 

*J 


V 




_.T. i '^: 

9 ■ - • _ - # • ^ 

- -'■ t 


■ - /M-'V i'.vH*,'' W:! 


t 



' t » * mJL 

, * fT"' •( 


■I 




>i, 


■• >< 


r - ] 

- •• • • *-^ 


^ 4 — i .1 


■I* -■*■ *’■' 


^katsfiw g 






i.*-* 


> 



t 

\ 



■ is 

— 


■■ *■•< 

> 

* 







.•< 


« ^ ■ 4 ♦•, * 

"’S • ’• 

-»•. .-J- . . 


•# 









* « 



Els'- ^<-'1^. A. 



.1 


A 




1 


. 3 ■ •.- *^ ^ '-v -. -^^1 


- -‘J '■ • " ‘i i ^ 

i i: ■-JK-%,;;’; v^ 

*5 ' y ij •* ''^.-j^^ 

- •’ 

'•'VJS? '^■•>i:=. ■;- 


•■'JS? 4 







They went out of the hut hand in hand. — Page 413. 


HEARTS AND THE 
CROSS 


BY 

HAROLD MORTON KRAMER 

M 


ILLUSTRATED BY 
HAROLD MATTHEWS BRETT 



BOSTON 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 


UBRARY Of CONGRESS 
Two CoDics Received 

JUN' 0 1906 



ni Entry 

/ha 

■ ru. No. 

^ 9 / 

T n. 





Published, August, 1906. 


Copyright, 1906, by Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. 


All Rights Reserved. 


Hearts and the Cross. 


NorbjoDli iBtejfs 
Berwick & Smith Co. 
Norwood, Mass., U. S. A. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER page 


I. 

A Composite Parson . 




II 

II. 

A Face in the Moonlight 




23 

III. 

Jap Munson, Politician 




38 

IV. 

Walked with a Limp 




55 

V. 

When Craigville Awoke . 




80 

VI. 

The Sermon .... 




104 

VII. 

The Promoter 




124 

VIII. 

The Glorious Fourth 




140 

IX. 

The Mad Dog 




158 

X. 

Bleached with Dog Meat 




173 

XI. 

Chasing an Idea 




192 

XII. 

Dave Dickson, Attorney . 




212 

XIII. 

Hallowe’en .... 




239 

XIV. 

When the Bloodhounds Came 




267 

XV. 

Closing the Campaign 




291 

XVI. 

Served the Warrant 




326 

XVII. 

The Mob .... 




352 

XVIII. 

When Christmas Came 




389 


Hearts and the Cross 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


They went out of the hut hand in hand {See 

page 41J) Frontispiece 


/ 


PAGE 

Wilson sat with his back to the tree, star- ^ 

ING STRAIGHT AHEAD 12 

In his hand he carried a blacksnake whip . 94 ^ 

His arms were uplifted, as though imploring 

THE judgment OF HEAVEN Il6^ 

« I FEARED YOU WOULD — WOULD DISAPPROVE,” HE 

’ / 

SAID 163 ^ 

As THEY REACHED THE TOP OF A HILL HE PAUSED 

A MOMENT AND TURNED IN HIS SADDLE . . 351 

As HE STILL HESITATED, HE SAW THE SMALL, WHITE 

FINGER CURVING CLOSER ABOUT THE TRIGGER . 376 > 

He simply stood at bay — waiting . . *383^ 


Hearts and the Cross 


’ t 


% 


t 


0 


HEARTS AND THE 
CROSS 


CHAPTER I. 

A COMPOSITE PARSON 

HE glory of June crept over the hills into 



the Valley of the Wabash, and that idolized 


stream shimmered in its radiance. Joseph 
Wilson, at work in a field of corn, felt the benign 
influence of the season and sat down in the shade 
of a walnut-tree growing at the edge of the field. 
Twenty- three is an age peculiarly susceptible to the 
wooing of June, and, although it required five feet 
and nine inches of tape to measure his height, and 
170 pounds of metal to balance him on the scales, 
Joseph was no exception to the rule. 

A soft haze, almost imperceptible, hung over the 
earth, and rays of heat danced in the sunshine, as 
if rejoicing at their return from their winter’s exile; 
high up in the limitless blue a chicken-hawk slowly 
circled in an aerial reconnaissance of the poultry- 
yards spread out below ; a chipmunk prowled along 
the rail fence, and then scampered away as the man 
reached for a clod. The sound of a whistle at- 
tracted his attention, and he saw a long freight- 


IX 


12 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


train creep out from behind a mask of hills half 
a mile away and go swaying and groaning on its 
way. The secret of its heavy puffing and slow 
progress was as an open book to the man under 
the tree. He knew that the train had stopped for 
water at the tank on Willow Creek, a short distance 
back, and, in a few minutes, would be due in Craig- 
ville, the metropolis of half a dozen stores that 
dozed in the heart of this Hoosier Utopia. Then 
on to Riverside, ten miles away, a hustling city of 
twenty thousand souls, the road wound among the 
picturesque hills that framed this fair valley. 

Once more the echoing whistle floated to him, 
and he pictured to himself the stir at the depot, 
as the Craigville loafers lined up at the station to 
whittle and to watch the freight unloaded. 

A shadow suddenly sprawled beside him, and he 
made a movement as if to turn, but settled back 
with an eager light shining in his eyes as a rich, 
strong baritone voice directly behind him rose in 
a short, swinging refrain: . 

“ The storms of life may fiercely blow, 

And sorrow in surging tides may flow, 

Whatever may come, come joy, come woe, 

Still here, here, here, thy refuge forever, forever is here ! ” 

Wilson sat with his back to the tree, staring 
straight ahead. A moment’s silence followed. 
Then he spoke. 

“ Sing the rest of it,” he said, dreamily. 

‘‘ Impossible, that’s the end,” was the laughing 
reply from the unseen singer. 



Wilson sat with his back to the tkep:, staring straight 

AHEAD. — Page 12. 


V 




■’ar» 


, V 

y 

.* • 






15. 





^ * •. 
'3 


0 


. 


* 

ft 

- < . 

* *1/ ’ ■ *< 

> 

• 

% 0 

9 9 

1 

' 4 . 

•1 
» > 

:< ,44.' 

^ ' ^.r ' '• * 

« 


't ^ « 

% 

• «*< i ■ 

v. »» ♦ 


^. '. '. ••'^ .4 

•J* •*■'* *' 4/' 






J 


• ^ 

r 


*'- \ 

> 1 


4 • ^ 


•> . '* 


// 




.• •.* 


i‘. 


- ■ - i' 

*>• .> 




•s * 


/ •% 





. .;. 

w 

’ ^ 

4. 

r 


^^ • 





5^-- . 

•• V 




•> 

iv «V 










0 ^ ‘ 




^ >* «> 

/ • r.« •* 

M' ' 


- ' 

, \* 

f ^ 


•A 


• 1 

/ 


^ « 


j"- 

9 


<V5t. 

. .'J* 


■ »x 

V- 




-tf:.* • X 


• V 

V 




V , 


*. 




V'p ft 


r,-'. f 4 ^ 


% 






•> 




• - 




r. 

> 





« 


I 



A 


4 . 



*'' (/ 


f 





m - 

t 

r 

* 

• » 

« 

» 





■ 


< 


0 


T 


^ » 



f 




t 




I 


«• « 




t 

I 

» 

. 1 





> 


'- I ■ 

. 4 



j 







-• 4 




( 

* 1 

I 


f 


I 




« 


't 





t 







r 1 







^ i • 


- ♦ ^ 

» 


\ 

V • 

* _ ft 









I 


> 



• i • 


»ft 


t 


»• 







•V 





« 


M 

ft- 


0 

• •» 

0 


I 


*. ' « 


1 



4 

9 


'A 




4 


ft 


i 



ft 


V . 

» 


% 


:| 


%. 



A COMPOSITE PARSON 


13 


Then commence over and sing it all/’ 

“ ril have to figure out another excuse, and, if 
you don’t look around here. I’ll be able to prove 
an alibi.” 

The man under the tree skewed himself around 
until he was able to see the other, but he did not 
arise. Apparently he did not think of it. He sat 
staring at a stranger leaning easily on the rail 
fence. 

The stranger was probably a little past thirty, 
with a face full and round, yet appearing slightly 
pinched at the mouth corners; of medium height, 
or a trifle above, strongly built frame, smooth 
shaven lip and chin that carried two days’ growth 
of beard; hair that was dark and close cropped 
and that showed a faint gleam of silver at the 
temples. He was garbed in a dark suit and a light 
straw hat, both clothing and hat showing evidences 
of having seen better days. These things Wilson 
noted as his gaze rested on the stranger. 

“ Then it wasn’t a dream, after all,” he said, pass- 
ing his hand over his eyes. 

“If you have reference to me, you are wrong. 
I am a dream, a regular nightmare.” 

“ But it has been so long since I heard that song 
that I thought perhaps I might be asleep.” 

The stranger climbed up on the fence and seated 
himself comfortably, and then gazed rather curi- 
ously at the other. 

“ Pardon me, but is Dudley Buck a favorite in 
this neighborhood?” 


14 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

Wilson laughed in a mirthless way. Hardly/’ 
he said. But I have heard his compositions — 
well, never mind where ; in another world, sung by 
an angel, I think. But you’d better shift yourself, 
as that rail is sort of rotten. Rail fences are scarce 
in this community now, — that one has been there 
for years, — and I wouldn’t want an old friend 
like it to give a new friend a tumble.” 

Thanks. I have no wish to trust my present 
on the worm-eaten past, so I’ll move.” He slid 
along to a more secure rail. 

“ Now that I’m sure that I am awake, I can’t 
help being curious in regard to your presence here. 
Where did you drop from, anyway?” 

A slight shadow rested for a moment on the 
countenance of the stranger, but naught but gaiety 
was reflected in his answer. 

“ Drop from ? A chariot of hope gilded with 
sunbeams and drawn by good resolutions.” 

Wilson stared. ‘‘ Guess you’re a poet in dis- 
guise,” he said. 

“ I may be disguised, unintentionally. But a 
poet? Not guilty.” 

“ Then what are you? ” 

The straw hat came off and was used as a fan, 
while the heel of a rather shabby-looking shoe beat 
a rat-a-tat on an inoffensive rail. 

“ ‘ Are ’ is in the present tense. If you had asked, 
‘ What have you been ? ’ I would have replied, ‘ A 
failure — or worse ; ’ if you had asked, ‘ What will 
you be? ’ I should say, ‘ A success — I hope; ’ but 


A COMPOSITE PARSON 


15 

you ask, ‘ What are you? ’ and I confess, ‘ A tramp 
— with regret’ ” 

The speech ended almost with a quaver. Then, 
with a sudden return to jauntiness, he sprang 
lightly to the ground, struck a tragic attitude, and 
declaimed : 

“ Where the bee sucks, there suck I ; 

In a cowslip’s bell I lie ; 

There I couch when owls do cry. 

On the bat’s back I do fly 
After summer merrily. 

Merrily, merrily, shall I live now 

Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.” 

“ Well, you’re a queer one, and no mistake,” said 
Wilson, laughing. 

Right ! I am queer, — a puzzle to myself at 
times. But, my young friend, you should know 
that oftentimes a man chooses to play the fool to 
keep from playing the baby.” 

“ I don’t think I understand you.” 

“ I mean that half an hour ago I was on the verge 
of tears, the result of being deposed from the char- 
iot I told you of.” 

“ Please go on. I am lost in the fog.” 

The stranger stood meditating a moment. “ I 
don’t know why I should choose you as my con- 
fessor, but I will,” he said. “To be brief, I was 
comfortably ensconced in a box car in the train 
that just passed here, but, when the water-tank was 
reached, I was ‘fired.’ That’s all — but it’s 
enough.” 


1 6 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


And you’re not a poet ? ” 

“ No, a — a — ” He hesitated, and then jerked 
out, “ A preacher.” 

Wilson sprang to his feet, with an exclamation 
of surprise and incredulity. 

“A preacher? And stealing a ride?” 

“ Sounds bad, I know, but I’ll send a check to 
the Company some day and square it.” 

“ Not a Dunkard, are you? ” 

“ No, a — well, we’ll say a composite.” 

“ The fog once more.” 

“ Well, it’s this way : I was born a Methodist, 
reared a Baptist, graduated a Presbyterian, and oc- 
cupied an Episcopal pulpit.” 

Wilson roared with laughter. Good gracious ! 
I should think you’d wake up at night fighting with 
yourself.” 

“ I don’t, though. You see, as a composite, I 
am at home in any community. But say, a happy 
thought! Doesn’t this particular section of Tyler 
County need a parson?” 

Wilson plucked a blade of grass and chewed it 
reflectively a moment before making reply. 

“ I think we do. But how do you know this 
is Tyler County?” 

‘‘ Met a man over in the woods yonder, and he 
asked my politics and what part of Tyler County 
I voted in. Wanted me to sit down on a stump 
and argue the money question with him.” 

‘‘ Small-like man, hatchet-faced, red-headed ? ” 
Correct.” 


A COMPOSITE PARSON 


17 


“Jap Munson. He’s a queer codger; used to 
be a Republican, but he got tangled up on free 
silver, and now he swears that the gold standard 
is the root of all evil. Seems to feel that the crops 
would yield a little better if it wasn’t for the ' cross 
of gold’ He’s a square man, for all that. But 
are you in earnest about wishing to locate here?” 

“To tell the truth, I don’t know. It was just 
a fleeting idea. I don’t know why not, though.” 

“ Well, there’s a frame church close by that lacks 
a parson. You might take that. But — the salary 
will be shy. You see, they are nearly all Dunkards 
hereabouts, and there’s only a small colony of the 
others, and they’re all denominations. That’s the 
reason the church is empty. The creeds wrangle.” 

“ That’s the sort of place the Rev. Robert Wayne 
— myself ” (with a bow) — “is seeking. The 
salary? Poof!” He waved his hand. “If I can 
find work in the fields, I will be content. I want 
no money for preaching God’s word, and I rather 
think a composite is the crying need of that church.” 

In the leaves overhead a couple of blue jays quar- 
reled for a moment and then flew away, scolding 
noisily. The lowing of cattle and the plaintive bleat 
of lambs came from the pastures, as the two men 
sat under the tree talking. Wayne entertained the 
young farmer with stories of college life and of the 
Southland, where he was born and had spent his 
youth. As he talked, the corn-field, the rail fence, 
the tree of walnut, faded, and he saw a boy on a 
Southern plantation, petted and with wealth lav- 


i8 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


ished upon him until his untrained feet faltered at 
the parting of the ways. Broad acres of cotton 
gleamed white under the hot caress of Florida’s 
sun; the waters of the Suwanee danced in the 
moonlight as they slipped by. He heard the croon- 
ing song of the darkies as they strummed rude 
banjos and voiced quaint melodies; he saw — 
Afternoon’s ’most gone ; we might as well start 
for the house.” 

He stared blankly at Wilson. Then the field of 
waving corn came into his life once more,, and he 
remembered. He arose and brushed his clothes 
with his handkerchief. 

‘‘ I am ready,” he said, “ but, as an applicant for 
a pulpit, I fear I lack tone, such as a tailor, a barber, 
and a haberdasher might impart.” 

His companion regarded him critically. I can’t 
say that you do look the part, exactly, and — per- 
haps — it would be a good idea for you to present 
yourself as an applicant for farm work, and attend 
to the preaching business later.” 

Wayne slapped him on the shoulder. ‘‘ Joe, — 
my familiarity is born of gratitude, — you should 
be a politician; as a diplomat, you are a success. 
You’ve solved the problem, and I see my way clear 
to handle the elder Wilson, your respected father.” 

They had jumped the fence and were walking 
slowly through the woods, taking a short cut to the 
house. The scent of spicewood and the fragrance 
of the wild rose were in the air, while blue bells, 
violets, and sweet-williams rioted beneath their feet. 


A COMPOSITE PARSON 


19 


“ I know enough about politics to get my ballot 
into the box without help from the election board, 
— and that’s about all. I remember of hearing a 
fellow make a speech, once, in which he declared 
that the man who wasn’t thoroughly posted on the 
political questions of the day was not a loyal citizen. 
I went home impressed and determined. For two 
days I buried myself in tariff bills and the details 
of the ‘ Crime of ’73,’ but, somehow, it would slip 
away from me, and I would suddenly arouse to 
find that I had forgotten the subject about which 
I had been reading, and was dreaming, — that’s 
the word, — dreaming — ” 

Of Dudley Buck and the poets.” 

“ At any rate, I threw the tariff into the fire, and 
declared the ’73 Crime outlawed. But — let’s go 
this way and cross the creek on the foot-log, — I’m 
ashamed of myself. Seems like I can’t get down 
to earth. There’s the creek right ahead of — ” 

“ Hi, there! Shy off to the left! ” 

The shout came from directly ahead, and from 
behind a tree-trunk they could see an arm waving, 
while above the arm a head bobbed around excit- 
edly, a pair of eye-glasses catching the sun’s rays 
and producing a curious glare. From the branches 
of a near-by tree the major portion of a man’s 
wearing apparel flapped in the breeze, as if cele- 
brating its emancipation from legs and arms. 

“ That’s ‘ Paragraph’s ’ voice,” replied Wilson, 
“ but the reflection of that glass front conceals the 
features.” 


20 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


“ Oh, it’s me, all right,” said the man behind 
the tree. “But don't you come any nearer, or it 
will be one of 3rour saddest hours.” 

“Well, what on earth are you doing in that 
plight? Practising a ghost dance?” 

“ This is not a m<xnent for levity, Joseph, ffiofi 
ami, — notice that I’m improving in that foreign 
jargon, — this is a time for commiseration and — 
and — forbearance.” 

“ Very well, then ; tell us your troubles.” 

“Well, you see, we got the Sun off the press 
early to-day, and I decided to pay my respects to 
Susanna. So I caught that pokey old accommo- 
dation, and in the coinse of time reached Craig- 
ville. Thought I might find some good Samaritan 
there who was hitched up and coming toward the 
^Vilson place, but there wasn’t, so I decided to do 
the ‘ heel and toe ’ across the woods and fields. Do 
you follow me? ” 

He was assured that they did, and continued: 

“ I came drilling along through the woods here, 
and all at once I spied an animal curled up in a hol- 
low log. ‘A ’coon,’ thought I. So I got a pole 
and slipped up, and slip-p-e-d up and fetched him 
a bump. He began to scramble, and I fetched him 
another bump, and then — whe-e-w! It was a 
skunk. You needn’t laugh; I had to get out of 
my clothes, — couldn’t live in ’em, — so I himg 
than up to air. Just step a little to the left and 
keep to the windward of me.” 

Wilson and Wayne shouted with laughter. 


A COMPOSITE PARSON 


21 


“ You’d better use a telephone to-night in your 
courting,” said Wilson, as they circled around the 
forlorn creature behind the tree. 

‘‘ Tell Susanna I’ll be there, — but don’t tell her 
the ’coon story.” 

As they crossed on the foot-log, the sun sank 
lower and the shadows lay heavy on Willow Creek, 
and something in the rippling murmur of the waters 
brought back the picture of the Suwanee to the 
stranger, and the dreams of his youth seemed to 
lie beneath his feet, the joyous trills sombred with 
shadows. Shaking his broad shoulders as if to free 
himself from the tentacles of the past, he smiled 
at his companion’s biography of the unfortunate 
whom he had addressed as “ Paragraph.” This was 
a nickname, he explained, bestowed because of his 
occupation, that of a reporter on a weekly news- 
paper in Riverside. 

“ His real name’s William Miller, ‘ Bill ’ for 
short, but oftener ‘ Paragraph.’ Been courting 
Susanna Prescott, who is maid-of-all-work at our 
house, for, oh, years. Pretty good sort of chap, 
but you’ve got to let him rattle.' He enjoys it.” 

They turned into the lane and the farmhouse lay 
before them, a large, roomy, substantial-looking 
structure, surrounded by giant oaks, from a limb 
of one a rope-swing dangling, between two others 
a hammock swaying, empty, in the breeze. A dog 
came bounding to meet them, and capered with 
joy over its master’s return. In the bam was heard 


22 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


the merry whistle of the hired hands; from the 
cow lot came the sound of a feminine voice, singing : 

“ Pretty little Mary, she’s the keeper of a dairy 
And I’ll meet her when the sun goes down.” 

‘‘ Susanna's preparing to milk," said Joe, and, 
if I know the symptoms, she's expecting Paragraph. 
She’d better put a muzzle on her nose." 

“ Her cheeks are red as the red, red rose, 

Her hair is a beautiful brown; 

She’s the darling of my heart, she is. 

And I’ll meet her when the — ” 

The conclusion was not heard, for at that moment 
a man came out of the house, and stood looking 
at them. A fine-looking man he had once been, and 
even yet he bore himself with an unconscious dig- 
nity. Once tall, his broad shoulders now stooped, 
and the hair, still abundant, swept back in snowy 
waves from a seamed brow. 

‘‘ My father,” whispered Joe, as they approached. 
“ He's nearly seventy, but I'll bet that this is the 
first time he ever met a composite parson.” 


CHAPTER II. 


A FACE IN THE MOONLIGHT 

FTER supper they sat on the broad porch 



in the twilight, watching the bats blindly 


^ darting about the gables of the house. Su- 
sanna in the kitchen washed the dishes, occasionally 
breaking into tuneful declarations that there was 
to be a meeting when the sun went down. 

Wayne said to himself that never had he so en- 
joyed a meal, and then flushed as he thought that 
this might partly be accounted for by the fact that 
he had fasted for twenty-four hours. Impulsive, 
warm-hearted Joe had welcomed him as a friend 
as they had chatted under the walnut-tree, and the 
old man had received him kindly, the more so, per- 
haps, because farm-hands were scarce that season, 
and the sturdy frame of the stranger was the best 
kind of recommendation. The quiet, sweet-faced 
lady, whom Joe had introduced as Mother,” was 
equally gracious. The old people saw no cause to 
cross-examine ; a stranger sought work ; they 
needed a farm-hand; it was sufficient. 

As they sat on the porch, the old man puffed 
contentedly at his pipe and discussed with Wayne 


24 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

the prospects for building up the scattered congre- 
gation that once worshiped in the little frame 
church. 

“ It’ll seem pretty good to attend something be- 
sides a Dunkard meeting once more. Not that 
there’s anything wrong with the Dunkards, Parson, 
but they’re just a mite wearing on me. No better 
people living than they; they’re unwavering in 
their faith. The Christians that met death in Nero’s 
arena were not more firm in trusting God, but I’m 
an old man, and I was taught things some different, 
and I suppose it is natural for me to long for the 
religion of my mother.” 

“ Natural? Mr. Wilson, it would be sacrilegious 
to view the subject otherwise.” 

“ You have strong feelings on the question, I 
see.” 

‘‘ A feeling as strong as life. When I go to sleep 
at night I can see my mother by my side. I was 
but a boy when she left me, but her admonishments 
have shaped my destiny. I have strayed from the 
course she pointed me to, but never have I for- 
gotten. The mistakes were of the head, not of 
the heart, and I know that to-night she forgives 
my errors and points me to the future. Men may 
preach of charity as the greatest of virtues, and I 
grant that it is a grace to be taught as Christ is 
taught, but unless it embodies the elements of for- 
giveness it falls short.” 

The old lady, who had been a silent listener, arose, 
and, murmuring something, went into the house. 


A FACE IN THE MOONLIGHT 25 

Joe glanced furtively at his father, and then abruptly 
stated that he hoped it would rain, as the corn was 
getting a little dry. 

‘‘ I think that you argue from theory rather than 
from experience,” said the old man, at last, after a 
silence that had grown awkward, his voice betraying 
a quality of harshness. 

Wayne had surmised by Mrs. Wilson’s action 
and by Joe’s sudden interest in the weather that he 
had unconsciously touched on forbidden ground in 
his discussion. However, he saw no way of grace- 
ful retreat; the old man’s reply had been a chal- 
lenge. 

“ I argue from the fact that I have stood in need 
of forgiveness, and have been given charity in- 
stead.” 

But what can be grander than charity? What 
nobler work for God can one do than to feed the 
hungry and clothe the, naked?” 

“ There is but one grander work, and that is to 
forgive. We may live in the midst of abundance, 
and give lavishly to the unfortunate, and yet fall 
short of heaven, for, without a forgiving spirit, it 
is as though we lived in the temporal world with- 
out hope of the spiritual. I believe in a practical 
religion myself; I believe in relieving the sick and 
distressed, in filling the flour-bin and wood-box of 
the needy, and then pointing them to the Man of 
Galilee, but that is all so easy. Out of plenty it 
is a simple matter to give, but when our inward 
lives, our pride, our hopes, have been stricken, it 


26 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


is not so easy to forgive, and therefore the quality 
is the more precious.” 

‘‘ Forgiveness belongs to the Lord. Shall I, 
when a man comes to my door hungry, say to him, 
‘ My poor fellow, you ask for bread, but I shall 
bestow upon you that which is greater than charity ; 
I forgive you for idling when work was at hand; 
I forgive you for sinning against society by de- 
bauching yourself with liquor ; go now and be com- 
forted ? ' Shall I say that, or shall I say, ‘ I know 
you are an idler, a drone, even a drunkard, but here 
is food ; look to God for forgiveness ? ’ ” 

‘‘ Pardon me, but you persist in misunderstanding 
me. In the case you picture, charity is, of course, 
the needful thing, but, as I pleaded before, it is so 
easy of accomplishment that it sinks into insig- 
nificance as compared to the quality I advocate. 
Forgiveness is for individuals, charity for general- 
ity. A man may be starving, but, if you refuse 
him food, there are hundreds of thousands of others 
to whom he may turn for succor, and a generous 
people have provided organizations and institutions 
to which the hungry may turn as a last resort, but 
the man who appeals to you for forgiveness for 
some wrong committed against you has not else- 
where to plead. You may feed him, but his soul 
starves still. It is the warm hand-clasp he seeks, 
and, though there may be other hand-clasps, they 
are not the one sought by the penitent; there may 
be others who will say, ‘ My poor fellow, you have 
my sympathy; though you have erred, count it as 


A FACE IN THE MOONLIGHT 27 

dead, and look to the future with its possibilities,' 
but it is not the voice he longs to hear. He has 
offended an individual, and, ere peace comes to his 
heart, that individual must say, in substance : ‘ Dry 
your tears and let the shadow be removed from 
your heart, for I forgive you all that is past, and 
count it as naught; if you have sinned against 
heaven look to God, and may He forgive you also.’ 
Then, and not until then, will joy come into that 
life. The seeker may have made peace with heaven, 
but even that is not sufficient for the one who begs 
for mercy on earth.” 

‘‘ You may be right. Parson, but one must not 
look for man to be as perfect as the Christ. It 
is an ideal to be desired, I grant, but the millennium 
is not yet come.” 

“ But it is coming. From ignorance and super- 
stition the world is advancing into the light, and 
Christianity is the torch that leads. In all the 
ages, among all peoples, an innate belief in a 
supreme being of some kind has existed and has 
uplifted. As the world advanced these inborn 
beliefs took various forms, and at last science was 
aroused, and learned skeptics turned upon religion 
and struck at it, but witness the result: Each blow 
of science has but chipped away the quartz, leaving 
the gold shining brighter and brighter; the seeth- 
ing fires of atheism have not been in vain, for they 
have served to melt away the dross and expose the 
treasure it had encumbered. As time passes, the 
world turns more and more to that Book which 


28 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


is like unto the Rock of Ages. So I declare my 
belief in the ultimate coming of the millennium, 
and if I should be asked to name, in my opinion, 
the greatest passage in the Book, the one that will 
have the greatest influence toward that ideal con- 
dition, I should quote from Mark, ‘ And when ye 
stand praying, forgive, if ye have aught against 
any, that your Father also which is in heaven may 
forgive you your trespasses.^ ’’ 

Well, well, I am willing to declare a truce, but 
I will not admit that I am convinced. Old men like 
me are generally hard to chase out of a ditch in 
which their opinions may be intrenched. Joe, I 
saw a couple of strange men nosing around along 
the creek this afternoon. They acted as if they had 
lost something, and would stoop down occasionally. 
I started down to speak to them, but they walked 
back into the woods, as if they didn’t care to be in- 
terviewed. See anything of them ? ” 

‘‘Not a glimpse. Strangest man I saw in the 
woods was Paragraph.” 

The old man chuckled at the remembrance of 
Joe’s vivid account of the young reporter’s experi- 
ence. 

“ Probably William will devote more time to the 
study of natural history in the future. Had he 
studied more of that and less French and other 
nonsense, he would have known the difference be- 
tween a ’coon and a skunk.” 

“ Yes, father, but experience has always been 
lauded as such a splendid teacher,” 


A FACE IN THE MOONLIGHT 29 

“ It ought to be in this case, anyway. How’s the 
corn over in that south field ? ” 

“ Coming along finely ; some weeds in it, but 
I dug the most of them out. By the way, you had 
better have Susanna count the chickens to-morrow. 
I noticed a hawk skirmishing around this way. I 
watched it some little time — ” 

‘‘ No doubt,” observed the old man, dryly. 

“ But I couldn’t just figure out where it had de- 
cided to attack,” continued the young man, ignor- 
ing his father’s implication. “ Wayne — I mean 
Rev. Wayne — came along on his way out from 
Craigville about that time, and I forgot the hawk.” 

‘‘ I reckon a chicken or two won’t matter much, 
anyway,” responded the elder Wilson, knocking the 
ashes out of his pipe, “ but I think hawks should 
be — ” 

“ Oh, the moonlight’s fair to-night along the Wabash, 

From the fields there comes the scent of new-mown hay.” 

“ There’s Paragraph,” said Joe, as the cheery 
voice was heard at the side gate. “ By his song 
ye may know him. If he should arrive without that 
song I would send for a doctor.” 

“ Ah, a merry evening, good sirs,” was the blithe 
greeting of the singer, as he came up the path. 

Some chap, a poet I think he was, once asked 
the question, ‘ What is so rare as a day in June? ’ 
I’d like to know who he was, for I have the answer. 
It is a night in June.” 

He came up, shook hands all around, and bowed 
like a cavalier when presented to Wayne. 


30 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

‘‘ A preacher and a worker, — happy combina- 
tion that. Too often do we find that the preacher 
wants some other fellow to do the working, while 
he preaches against the love of money. Then he 
is urgently ‘ called to other fields where lie can do 
more extensive work for the Lord,’ as he informs 
his congregation in a tombstone voice, but should 
some prying, inquisitive member of his flock make 
intelligent inquiry, he will discover that the ‘ broader 
field ’ has an increased salary attachment. Joe, I’ll 
assassinate you if you don’t quit whistling ‘ Coony 
up a Gum Stump.’ Parson, that young man needs 
your hardest licks, — spiritually, of course. He’s 
mocking my past misery.” 

Oh, the Parson will look after me all right ; 
but you had better look after the fair Susanna.” 

That I will. Where is she ? But never mind. 
‘ Her eyes are bright, they shine at night,’ and that 
mysterious something we call affinity shall lead me 
to her.” 

Well, for fear affinity loses you in the dark. I’ll 
direct you to the back porch. I heard her out there 
awhile ago, singing something about red cheeks, 
brown hair, and sundown.” 

‘‘ What’s the news in Riverside, William ? ” asked 
Mr. Wilson. 

‘‘ Nothing special; a wedding occasionally; ditto 
a funeral. The principal topic of conversation is 
electric railway. They say one is headed that way, 
and will connect us with Indianapolis. That’s all 


A FACE IN THE MOONLIGHT 31 

I know. Oh, yes, Riverside has bought a new fire- 
engine. Expecting it any day now.” 

“ That's it, that’s it ! ” exclaimed Joe. 

What’s it, and what’s what? ” asked Miller. 

Why, that’s what I saw on a flat car to-day, 
shining and glittering.” 

“ Seems to me, young man,” said his father, “ that 
between the hawks and the freight-trains you didn’t 
have much time left for hoeing weeds.” 

The reporter was half-way around the house, but 
came back. “ Say, Joe,” he asked, hesitatingly, you 
— don’t — that is — I mean — can you — ah, er — 
detect any — er — odor about my raiment?” 

“ Come to think of it, I do. You smell like a 
Thanksgiving cake.” 

“ That’s all right, just so that — that other isn’t 
noticeable.” 

No, but what is it that is noticeable? ” 

“ Vanilla extract.” 

What?” 

“ Yes, I put on my clothes and hustled back to 
Craigville. After I got away from the locality, I 
found that it was the locality more than my clothes 
that was affected. I intended creeping back home, 
but that ‘ plug ’ train was way late, so I decided 
to perfume up a little and return to my conquest. 
Wasn’t a thing in Craigville in the way of perfume, 
except asafetida and vanilla extract. Of the two 
evils I chose the lesser. A little of the extract 
rubbed in my hair and on the inside of my vest 
fixed me all right.” 


32 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

The light-hearted reporter went in search of 
Susanna, and the preacher sat talking with the 
farmer and his son regarding plans for the work 
of the church and the work of the farm. The full 
moon peeped over the edge of the strip of woods 
skirting the creek, and from a neighboring farm- 
house a watch-dog challenged the appearance of 
the queen of night. From, down in the shadows 
came the soft note of a dove, that ventriloquist of 
the woods. Within the house Mrs. Wilson sat knit- 
ting, the lamplight giving her face, as seen through 
the open window by Wayne, a chastened look of 
long-borne sadness. As he watched her, a feeling of 
utter loneliness came to him and a flood of longing 
swept into his heart, a longing for the mother who 
had faded from his life while Youth nestled at his 
feet, leaving him to face the world alone. If she 
had lived, he wondered if she would not to-night 
be sitting in the lamplight knitting, while he sat 
close by in silent adoration. Then something very 
like a sob escaped him, for the knitting-needles 
rested idly in the lap of the old lady and, gently 
rocking, she was singing, in a voice glorified with a 
quaver of age, an old hymn : 

Leave, oh, leave me not alone ; 

Still support and comfort me.” 

It was the favorite of his sainted mother. A 
clock somewhere within the house struck the hour 
of nine, and Wilson arose. 

“ Time for workers to go to bed,’’ he said, lead- 


A FACE IN THE MOONLIGHT 33 

ing the way into the house, and the others silently 
followed. 

“ Mr. Wayne, you will sleep down-stairs to- 
night. William will share Joe’s bed.” 

Try as he would, Wayne found sleep elusive. 
The kaleidoscopic events of the last twenty-four 
hours drove slumber from his pillow. The clock 
struck ten, and he heard Paragraph deliver a flow- 
ery good-night oration to Susanna, and then heard 
his step on the stairs as he ascended to his bed. 
Again the house was still, but wakefulness lingered. 

Arising, he stood at the window, gazing out at 
the peaceful scene. The night was warm, and the 
window had been left raised to its full height. A 
sudden impulse came to him. He hesitated; then, 
slipping his clothes on, stepped softly through the 
window, and stood in the shadow of the house. 
The mastiff arose, and regarded him with silent 
suspicion; then, seeming to realize that all was 
well, it wagged its tail and again stretched out on 
the porch. 

The moon had risen almost to the zenith, and 
was flooding the earth with mellow glory. A balmy 
breeze stirred a lilac bush and bore to the man a 
deep breath of sweetest perfume. The woodlands 
near by seemed beckoning, and almost before he 
realized it he had turned his steps in that direction. 
It was all so grand, so free! He took off his hat, 
and waved his arms in abandon, and drank in the 
scented draughts, born of unfettered nature. A 
wild impulse was upon him to walk on and on. 


34 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

leaving behind him forever the farmhouse where 
in a whimsical hour he had decided to take refuge. 
The world had changed. The days of chivalry were 
here again, and he was a knight going forth to 
storm and destroy the castle of Reality. Picking 
up a stone, he hurled it at the man in the moon, with 
a laughing challenge to combat. He paused. The 
creek lay before him. Sitting down on a log, he 
expanded his chest, and then a vigorous young 
sprout growing close by caught his eye. Stepping 
quickly forward, he seized it, and tore it up by the 
roots, exulting in his strength. Swinging it around 
his head, he was about to hurl it from him, when he 
suddenly paused, staring in amazement. 

Fifty feet away the foot-log lay across Willow 
Creek, and on this log, leaning on the rude hand- 
rail, stood a woman. Her back was toward him 
and, although she stood in the shadow, he could see 
that she was gazing dreamily down into the water. 
The grass had deadened his footsteps, and it was 
plain that she had not heard him. As he stood 
irresolute the figure on the foot-log straightened, 
and a moment later she stepped off on to the bank, 
the moonlight falling full on the slight figure, the 
fair, fresh face and well-moulded head, crowned 
with a wealth of golden hair. 

“Great God!” 

The cry was a half-smothered, guttural gasp, as 
Wayne reeled and sank down on the log. 

Like a nymph of the moonlight, she stood for a 
moment, her clinging white garments giving her 


A FACE IN THE MOONLIGHT 35 

a wraith-like appearance. Then she walked slowly 
forward, her rose-garlanded hat clasped in her 
hands, her every appearance indicating deep study. 
Her course was directly toward the man cowering 
on the log, and, with pale face, he arose unsteadily 
to his feet. He feared to retreat lest he should 
stumble in his sudden weakness, and betray his 
presence. There was but one course to pursue. 
Slipping over the log, he stretched himself at full 
length close against it and in its shadow. 

There he lay, with wildly beating heart, while the 
vision advanced slowly toward the place of his con- 
cealment. Then, she seemed to change her mind, 
and altered her course so as to keep more in the 
open. Thus she passed within a few feet of the log, 
utterly unconscious that behind it groveled a 
wretched creature whose veins were standing out 
like sinews on his pallid brow, a man who, with 
knightly visions, had gloried in his strength, but 
who now, in his weakness, was ready to crawl in 
the dust at her feet. 

Keeping well in the shadows, he began creeping 
after her, determined, now that danger of discovery 
was past, to follow her to her place of abode. 
The queer pursuit had continued but a short dis- 
tance when a surprising interruption occurred. 
Voices were heard, and the next instant two men 
came striding across a little clearing, their course 
being such that it would take them directly be- 
tween Wayne and the woman. She was quick to 
take alarm, and darted away like a flitting shadow, 


36 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

rendering it impossible for him to follow her with- 
out being detected by the men, and probably by the 
woman herself, and this he dared not do. So he 
shrank back in the shadow of a giant oak, as the 
men passed. 

“ Who was that ? ” exclaimed one, as he caught 
sight of the disappearing woman. 

Oh, some country girl who is probably going 
to a tryst.^’ 

“ But there might be the devil to pay if she has 
been spying on us.” 

“ Nonsense. Female detectives belong in story 
books, not in Tyler County. Some of these Dun- 
kards are so devilish pious that the only way their 
daughters can have a lover away from the noses of 
the old folks is to steal out at night. Come on.” 

The men were close enough to enable the hiding 
preacher to hear their words, but the rough slouch 
hats drawn over their faces concealed their features. 
One carried a pick on his shoulder, while the other 
carried a spade. They passed on, and as it was 
evident that the woman had escaped by this time, 
Wayne determined to follow the men. 

Luckily, their way led through the woods, and he 
was enabled to keep them in sight with ease. At 
length they stopped, and he could see them mov- 
ing about in a mysterious manner. In a few mo- 
ments he understood. He heard the sound of a 
wheel scraping on a buggy side, and then saw one 
of the men backing the vehicle out of a clump of 
bushes where the horse had been tied. The broad. 


A FACE IN THE MOONLIGHT 37 

graveled highway lay just beyond, and the watcher 
knew that the chase was ended. And so it proved, 
for, opening a gate, the men drove out to the road 
and then turned southward, driving at a brisk pace. 


CHAPTER III. 


JAP MUNSON^ POLITICIAN 

T he old-fashioned clock in the sitting-room 
(as it is called in Indiana) was recording 
the hour of midnight when he threw himself 
on the bed once more. At last he fell into an un- 
easy slumber, broken by distorted dreams. He was 
being borne along through space by unseen hands, 
while a strange, rushing sound filled his ears. A 
voice that seemed to be all about him, yet invisible 
in force, told him in a kind of chant that it was the 
scroll of time being turned backward. Presently, 
they came to a land that was fair and beauteous. 
Magnolia and C3rpress trees stood like sentinels on 
the picket lines of paradise. A river flowed peace- 
fully onward through this valley framed by the 
hills, and a strain of music from somewhere told 
him that it was the Suwanee. The flight was 
stayed, and he looked about to find the landscape 
familiar. Then he remembered. The scenes were 
those of his young manhood. He seemed to be 
alone in a sort of a twilight, but in a moment 
two men, with faces shaded, appeared, and with 
pick and spade began to dig at a spot marked by a 
38 


JAP MUNSON, POLITICIAN 39 

great white cross. He tried to move, but an en- 
chantment was upon him. He shouted, but the 
sound died on his lips. Swiftly the strange men 
labored, then suddenly paused. An angel with 
clinging robes of white came slowly forward, an 
angel with the moonlight bathing her upturned face, 
with a wealth of golden hair crowning her shapely 
head, and in her hand a garland of roses for a 
sceptre. 

What doest thou? ” 

The voice was not of earth. It was as if the sil- 
very strings of an seolian harp had been swept by 
the zephyrs of heaven until they breathed music. 
The diggers dropped upon their knees and made 
reply : 

“ Oh, queen, knowest thou that here lies buried 
a sin of scarlet which we would bring forth and 
lay upon the shoulders of yon guilty trembler?’^ 

“ I bid you forsake your task. See you not the 
Cross ? Know you not that it is written, ‘ The 
blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth us from all sin ? ’ ” 

A mist arose, and when it had passed the toilers 
had gone. The power of movement came back, 
and the dazed mortal stretched out his arms in mute 
supplication to the vision in white, but she pointed 
to the Cross, and, with a wave of the rose sceptre, 
vanished. But the Cross glowed brighter than be- 
fore, and with a sob he cast himself at its foot and 
about it entwined his arms. 

A strange brightness seemed to be around and 
about him and — he awoke to find the morning sun- 


40 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

light streaming in at his window. Dazed he lay 
there, watching the window blind gently swaying 
in rhythm to the morning breeze. He closed his 
eyes and wondered if this was Fairyland. The low- 
ing of cattle came to him, the crow of a rooster, 
the cheery whistle of a farm-hand, and then from 
the cow lot there came floating fragments of a 
song : “ Her cheeks . . . red rose . . . sun goes 
down.’' Memory was once more on its throne. 

A tap on the door added to the reality and, in 
response to his reply, the voice of Joe informed 
him that it was half-past six. Springing from bed 
he dressed in haste, well knowing that the hour 
was late for a farm-hand to be abed. He had 
scarcely finished when Joe came in with a bucket 
of water. 

“ Going to make company out of you this morn- 
ing and bring you in some water. Pitcher’s broke, 
but that bowl yonder will hold enough to wash your 
face with, I guess.” 

‘‘ You are certainly the personification of kind- 
ness, but I don’t want to be ‘ company.’ Let me 
fare the same as the other hands.” 

“ That’s all right. To-morrow you’ll wash at the 
pump-trough with the rest of us. Guess a wash- 
bowl one morning won’t make a dude of you.” 

A chuckling laugh was the response from the 
man at the wash-bowl, as he bathed his face in the 
clear, cool water fresh from the well. 

Father thought that you looked rather tired, 
so he gave you an extra hour on the sheets this 


JAP MUNSON, POLITICIAN 41 

morning, too. Now don’t say a word,” hastily, as 
the other attempted to remonstrate. “ It’s a kind 
of an off day, anyway. Don’t know what the pro- 
gramme is. Let’s go out to breakfast and we’ll find 
out.” 

In the sitting-room they found Mr. Wilson and 
Paragraph deep in the discussion of the electric line 
projects the reporter had referred to the night be- 
fore. The greeting of the former was kindly and 
dignified, while the other’s was most effusive, and 
filled with glowing panegyrics on the glory of the 
morning, a greeting that was filled with twittering 
birds, flowery chalices of dewy nectar, and mellow 
sunbeams. 

“ Good gracious, let me get to the door,” ex- 
claimed Joe. I didn’t know things looked like 
that out-of-doors. If I had an imagination like 
Paragraph’s, I would camp in a rose-bush and turn 
up my nose at a house.” 

Mrs. Wilson came in, and the fragrance of fry- 
ing ham came with her. She shook hands with 
Wayne, and hoped he had rested well. He hesi- 
tated; then, with a guilty feeling of being forced 
to a falsehood, replied that his rest had been perfect. 

And I wish to return my thanks for the gra- 
cious hour allotted me this morning,” he added. 

A light footfall sounded behind him. He turned, 
and stood facing the nymph of the moonlight, the 
angel of his dream. He stood like a statue, staring 
into her eyes, and then came to his senses in time 
to hear Joe saying; 


42 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

My sister, Lorraine, Reverend Wayne/’ 

He bowed, and murmured an acknowledgment. 

But, I must ask. Miss Wilson, that you omit the 
‘ Reverend,’ and know me by the good American 
‘ Mister,’ if a title is used.” 

“ Told you he was an odd one,” broke in Para- 
graph, triumph in his tones. 

“ William, you will have Rev — Mr. Wayne be- 
lieving us rude enough to talk about him,” was the 
laughing reply of the girl, and Wayne jerkily in- 
sisted that if such were the case he would consider 
it an honor, not rudeness. 

“ Well, I’m the only one that’s done the talking. 
Parson,” said the reporter. “ I told her that this 
roof was sheltering a rara avis (that’s Latin, and 
I can show you in the book that it’s correct), yes, 
a rara avis, in the form of a preacher who wanted 
to work. And now you cast aside the ‘ Reverend,’ 
the holy crown of a theological college, and insist 
on being plain ‘ Mister.’ I insist that you are odd, 
but you are the kind of a man that will honor the 
Wabash.” His arm described a half-circle toward 
the distant timber line that marked the course of 
that idolized stream. 

Mrs. Wilson had ushered them into the dining- 
room, and was busying herself in a motherly way, 
pressing the viands upon them. This honey will 
be nice with your hot biscuit, Mr. Wayne,” she 
urged. 

‘‘ That honey is the genuine article, too,” said 
the farmer. “William, there, can testify to that. 


JAP MUNSON, POLITICIAN 43 

He helped us gather it and a big bee popped him 
right between the eyes while he was doing it/’ 

“ Yes, Paragraph has had some thrilling adven- 
tures in this neighborhood,” remarked Joe, with 
a grin, while the discomfited reporter glared sav- 
agely at him, and gulped his coffee steaming hot. 

“ All lovers who go a-wooing should be willing 
to meet with adventures, and surely no knight of 
mediaeval days was more gallant than is Mr. 
Miller.” The defence came from the daughter, but 
Paragraph looked as though he preferred to change 
the subject. 

“ Paragraph is gallant enough, Lorraine,” re- 
sponded Joe, ‘‘ but there are some encounters in 
which neither gift of tongue nor ability with the 
pen can be of assistance to him.” 

The subject of this good-natured badinage ap- 
peared so utterly miserable that the kindly old 
farmer went to his rescue by switching the con- 
versation into a new channel. 

“ Mr. Wayne, I forgot to explain the presence 
of Lorraine here this morning.” He paused a 
moment to pour his coffee out into the saucer to 
cool, and Wayne felt like thanking him for bring- 
ing up the subject. That was the very information 
he desired. 

“ She’s been teaching a short term of summer 
school down on Willow Creek, and her school closed 
yesterday. She sat up with a sick friend the early 
part of the night, and then came on home. Yes, 


44 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

sir, walked through the woods by herself. That’s 
the kind of girls Indiana has.” 

“ It really was very foolish and unwise of me, 
but the night was so bright and fine that I enjoyed 
the walk alone.” 

And did you see — that is, I mean did nothing 
occur to frighten you?” Wa)nie felt that he was 
on dangerous ground, but he could not help voicing 
the question. 

She flashed him a sudden look, half of doubt, half 
of suspicion, but her face cleared in a moment. 

“ Well, I acknowledge that I was a little nervous 
when I reached home. But it was really nothing 
that — ” 

“ Hello ! ” a voice hailed from the yard. 

Jap Munson,’^ remarked Joe, as a step sounded 
on the porch, and the next moment the caller stepped 
to the open door of the dining-room. 

‘‘Rather late breakfast, hey?” he queried, bob- 
bing his red head to first one and then the other in 
salutation. “ Glad to see you home. Lorry,” he 
added to the girl. 

Refusing an invitation to take a seat at the table, 
he declared that he was “ in a rush.” Nevertheless, 
he sat down at one side, twirled a broad-rimmed 
straw hat in his left hand, while with the other he 
dexterously flourished a blacksnake whip and flicked 
it at a fly on the floor near Wayne, thereby causing 
the preacher to dodge involuntarily. 

“ Keep your seat, stranger. I just wanted to 
boost that pesky fly. No danger of Jap Munson 


JAP MUNSON, POLITICIAN 45 

harming a hair of your head with a blacksnake. 
No, sir. I can pick a skeeter off the ear of a horse 
and never touch the hide. There’s an art in han- 
dling a blacksnake, 1 tell you. Went over to River- 
side once and saw ‘ Uncle Tom’s Cabin ’ played. 
I stood the death of Little Eva without batting 
an eye, but when Simon Legree tackled Uncle Tom 
with that blacksnake whip, it brought tears to my 
eyes.” 

‘‘ It is a very affecting scene, Mr. Munson,” said 
the preacher. 

‘‘ Affecting ! I should say so. The tarnation 
idiot didn’t know how to handle a blacksnake any 
more than a Digger Indian knows how to handle 
a cake of soap. Yes, sir, such ignorance brought 
tears to my eyes. After the show, I went to the 
chap and offered to teach him for nothing. And 
what do you suppose he said? Did he thank me? 
No, sir. Called me a ‘ hayseed,’ a ‘ stubble-jumper,’ 
and a lot more names. He didn’t go on the stage 
the next night, though. Doctor said a man with a 
broken nose and two black eyes ought to keep his 
room.” 

‘‘ By the way, let me introduce Mr. Wayne to 
you, Mr. Munson,” said Joe, after acknowledging 
that Simon Degree’s punishment had been more 
than deserved. 

“ Glad to meet you, Mr. Vaine. Guess you’re 
the man I met yesterday over yonder in the woods.” 

'‘Yes, I’m the one. But you caught my name 
wrong. It’s Wayne.” 


46 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

All right ; hearing’s a little off sometimes, but 
I can hear a man when he calls me a ‘ hayseed,’ you 
bet. The farmers are the backbone of this country, 
and this country’s just about the whole thing on 
this earth. The idea of saying that we can’t fix 
our money the way we want it. I say that if this 
government stamps a silver dollar and calls it a 
dollar, it is a dollar, and if the derned Britishers — ” 

“ How’s your wheat coming on, Jap ? ” The old 
man was striving desperately to dodge an argument, 
for he saw the “ Crime of ’73 ” about to be held up 
in all of its hideousness. 

‘‘ Wheat’s all right. But what’s the use of rais- 
ing anything? Answer me; answer met Why, 
gentlemen, with silver restored to its rights, we’d 
get something for our crops. In 1873, when — ” 

“ Going to be preaching at the Walnut Grove 
Church Sunday,” interposed Joe. Breakfast was 
over, and Mrs. Wilson and Lorraine had fled to 
the kitchen. 

“Preaching? Who by, some Dunkard?” 

“ No, a composite.” 

“A what?” 

“ By Mr. Wayne here. He will simply preach 
the Bible, and you can take your choice of routes 
to the Golden Somewhere.” 

“ That suits me. I’ll choose the longest route ; 
I’m in no hurry to get there.” 

“ Guess you’d better take the Methodist ticket, 
then. They’ll keep you waiting outside on probation 
for six months.” 


JAP MUNSON, POLITICIAN 47 

“Joseph!” 

It was his mother’s voice raised in mild reproof. 
She had been reared in the faith, the hymns of 
Methodism had been her comfort and stay in many 
hours of sorrow, and it was akin to sacrilege, in 
her opinion, to hear the tenets of her religion so 
lightly spoken of. 

“ I beg your pardon, mother. I meant no dis- 
respect.” 

She smiled, and, though she doubtless considered 
him thoughtless, pride and love beamed in her eyes. 
Wayne’s impulse was to grasp the young man’s 
hand. He knew that the chaff with Munson had been 
a mere play of words, but the mother was of a gen- 
eration whose code recognized no persiflage on 
matters of religion, and the son who honored his 
mother with an apology for that which had been a 
cross-current to her convictions was worthy of his 
parentage. 

It was Saturday, and Wilson proclaimed a semi- 
holiday. Wayne had assured him of his willing- 
ness to begin his ministerial work the next day, and 
the farmer had thereupon declared that Saturday 
would be given over to preparation for the occasion, 
and the boy who assisted Susanna in the dairy had 
been mounted on one of the plough horses soon 
after breakfast and despatched as a courier to spread 
the news throughout the community. 

The men strolled out to the orchard, Munson 
protesting that he must be going. 

“ Can’t stay a minute longer. I’m in a rush, if 


48 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

I ever was. Going down to Bundy’s Ford after a 
load of rocks. Wife says I’m to whitewash ’em 
and make a big flower bed. Says we’ve got to have 
flowers.” 

“ Think you’d know a geranium from a sun- 
flower, Jap ? ” asked the old man, with a twinkle 
in his eye. 

“ That’s her business. I’m head over heels in 
politics, and you bet there ain’t many flowers in 
politics.” 

No, but there are plenty of thorns.” 

“ Sure, but you’ve got to know how to handle 
’em. Well, I’m in a rush and must mosey along. 
Just thought I’d drop in a minute as I went by. 
If any of you go over to Craigville, I wish you’d 
inquire for my mail.” 

‘‘ I expect Joe will go over, and get a couple of 
the horses shod.” 

‘‘ I’ll be around this evening after my mail. And 
here’s a dollar ; bring me the whole of it in postage 
stamps. I’m a candidate for township trustee, but 
I’m in such an awful rush that I come pretty near 
forgetting to tell you about it. Yes, sir, and I’m 
going to make a whirlwind campaign, too.” 

“ Getting an early start in the campaign, aren’t 
you, Jap?” asked Joe. 

‘‘ Sure thing. I read a book once in which a 
fellow said, ‘ Thrice armed is he whose quarrel is 
just, but four arms has he who hits you fust.’ ” 

“ Then you want to have the prestige of being 
first in the field, do you? ” 


JAP MUNSON, POLITICIAN 49 

That’s the idea. I intend sending personal let- 
ters to every voter in the township, and explain it 
to them. Silver’s been degraded, and woe with a 
big ‘ W ’ is coming to this land. Who’s the impor- 
tant man in such a time of trial? An — swer me I 
It’s the trustee. Yes, sir, it’s the trustee that puts 
shoes on the feet and bread in the mouths. Gov- 
ernors and presidents don’t do you any good when 
them days come, but the trustee, if he’s fit, goes 
among the unfortunate victims of a crime com- 
mitted in the halls of Congress ’way back in ’73, and 
he puts a joint of beef in the pot and a sack of flour 
in the bin.” 

‘‘ How are you and Hiram Owens getting along 
with your line fence quarrel ? ” The old farmer 
had again shied at the “ crime ” and had chosen 
the one subject to change the current, so he 
thought. 

Not getting along at all.” Munson hesitated, 
and then popped his whip at a leaf, cutting it as 
if with a razor. ‘‘ He wanted me to pay half on 
putting a wire fence between our farms, but I 
’lowed that a rail fence was plenty good enough. 
Result is, he’s put in a wire fence, and I’ve built a 
rail fence right by the side of it. No sense of such 
extravagance as his in the face of what’s coming. 
Wait till I get to be trustee and famine perches on 
that wire fence and croaks at him. I’ll say, ‘ Hiram 
Owens, in my official capacity it is my duty to feed 
your family, but darned if you oughtn’t to be made 
to hang on that fool fence of yours, and let the 


50 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

robins feed you.’ But I must be going, as I’m in an 
awful rush.” 

Paragraph had, with studied carelessness, wan- 
dered away from the group, and was now sidling 
up toward Susanna, who was busying herself among 
the crocks and pans in the milk-house, apparently 
utterly oblivious of the coming of the swain, al- 
though in reality she had observed his zigzag ap- 
proach, and was watching him out of the corner of 
her eye. 

“ Ah, the enchanted bower ! ” 

Paragraph’s tone was half a salutation, and she 
wheeled quickly, as though quite startled. 

‘‘ Enchanted fiddlesticks ! It’s the milk-house, 
and half the milk’s soured.” It was plain to be 
seen that Susanna was miffed about something. 

“Why this sharpness of tongue, oh, fair one?” 
This in his most injured tone. 

A heavy frown, and a vigorous scouring of a pan 
that was already as bright as a mirror was the only 
response. 

“ Ha ! The sunlight shadowed, the brightness 
of glorious morn darkened by a frowning cloud.” 

“ ’Most any one could say pretty speeches if 
they’d practised as much as you have, William 
Miller.” 

Whenever Susanna referred to him as “ William 
Miller,” he knew there was lively skirmishing ahead. 
He was totally ignorant of the cause of this unex- 
pected mood in which he had found her, and, man- 
like, he first whistled, and then scratched his head. 


/AP MUNSON, POLITICIAN 51 

However, he determined to stay on the firing- 
line. 

“ If pretty speeches come trippingly from my 
tongue, ’tis surely because I have framed them 
for thee; ’tis because I oft have spoken them to 
visions which I glorified by the charming name of 
Susanna.” 

A rattle of the pans and a toss of the head, but 
no word in reply. 

“ Oh, woman, in our hours of ease 
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please.” 

He contrived to inject a shade of bitterness into 
his voice. 

Better try to please that other girl.” 

His eyes opened. He was world-wise enough to 
know that the ‘‘ enemy ” was about to break cover 
and come out into the open. 

Ah, ha ! So it is a female Ethiopian concealed 
in the wood-pile. What other girl, lovely lady ? ” 

“You are innocent, for sure! That little minx 
you were caught holding in your arms the other 
day.” 

“I, holding a girl in my arms?” 

“ Oh, you can’t pull the wool over my eyes. I’d 
be ashamed if I was you. Joe said — ” 

“ So Joe said, did he ? Then Joe shall answer 
to me. By the living gods, the blood of a long line 
of Millers courses hotly through my veins.” He 
turned fiercely, but with a little cry she stopped 
him. 


52 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

Oh, I didn’t mean to mention his name.” 

“ Nevertheless, he shall rue his words.” 

‘‘But what — what do you intend to do?” 

“Do? Dof Call him out as they did in the 
days of old when knights were bold. He shall 
meet me on the field of honor, and in a bloody duel 
to the death, this base thing shall be wiped out ! ” 
Sweeping off his hat, he rumpled up his hair and 
flirted his wrist as though testing his trusty broad- 
sword. 

“ Oh, please don’t talk that way. Joe didn’t 
mean any harm.” Then with jealousy again con- 
quering, she added : “ But I don’t care ; you had no 
business holding that girl in your arms there in 
that boat.” 

She turned with a pout to the milk-pans once 
more. Paragraph stood staring at her a moment; 
then the lines about his face began to change from 
a frown to a broad grin as the light of knowledge 
kindled in his eyes. Then he broke into a roar of 
laughter, and leaned against the door while he 
wiped the tears of merriment from his eyes. 
Susanna looked up in astonishment, and then, with 
her face scarlet with wounded dignity, she tried to 
pass him, but he barred the way. 

“ So that’s the girl you mean.” 

“ It certainly is, Mr. Miller.” 

“ But I couldn’t help it. Honest, I couldn’t.” 

A frigid silence was his reward, and he hastily 
continued : 

“You see, she was out rowing on the Wabash 


JAP MUNSON, POLITICIAN 53 

alone, and in some way she got into the water. I 
was not far away in another boat, so I — well, I 
wanted to swim a little, so I just helped her back 
into the boat. She was about half-drowned, and 
I couldn^t help putting my arms around her in 
getting her out of the river. That’s all there is 
to it.” 

"" All there is to it? ” 

“ Why — er — yes.” 

“ But wasn’t that enough ? Oh, Will, what a 
hero you are.” 

She beamed upon him in a most captivating man- 
ner, and he, quick to note his opportunity, seized 
her by both hands and drew her to him. 

“You remember that question you asked me last 
night, Will,” she said, coyly, after a mighty sigh. 

“How could I forget it, adored one? It has 
■pulsed through my brain every moment since, and 
alternate hope and fear have so wrought upon me 
that I am but a mere shadow of myself of yester- 
day. Speak, oh, speak the word, my queen, that 
shall enhance the glory of the sunshine.” 

“ I — I think I’ll say ‘ yes.’ ” 

“ And the day ? ” 

“ Whenever you wish.” 

He studied a moment. “Ah, I have it! We’ll 
elope.” 

“ Elope? Why, there’s no cause for that.” 

“ Cause enough. It’s romantic. Look at Jap 
Munson. He followed dull routine in his courtship ; 
got married with everybody knowing all about it 


54 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

for days before, and then settled down in a rut to 
talk politics and swing a blacksnake. None of that 
for me. Now look at young Lochinvar. He stole 
his bride from another man at the altar, and is 
famed in poesy. ’’ 

“ I know, but then — ” 

“ Yes, I know I can’t get any one else to lead 
you to the altar — I mean I don’t want any one 
else to lead you to the altar — but we’ll steal away 
some beauteous night, and before the dawn shall 
have lifted the sombre curtains, we will be wed.” 

A report like the crack of a pistol interrupted the 
plot, and, looking around, they saw Munson’s whip 
circling for another pop. 

“ Susanna,” he called, “ wife wants you to come 
over and help her piece a quilt one day next week.” 

The old man and Joe had accompanied him 
to the road, so Paragraph deemed it wise to join 
them. Munson climbed into his wagon and, with 
a crack of the whip, started. 

Whoa ! ” he shouted a moment later, and; turn- 
ing in his seat, called back to the group at the fence : 
‘‘ I’ll be along this evening after them stamps. Git 
up.” The whip popped once more, after forming 
a perfect figure “ 8 ” about his head, and the wagon 
rattled out of sight. Wayne shrewdly surmised 
that the cause of Munson’s stop was in order to 
afford him another opportunity to display his dex- 
terity with the blacksnake. 


CHAPTER IV. 


WALKED WITH A LIMP 

B idding Wayne go to his room and prepare 
his sermon for the morrow, the farmer and 
his son, accompanied by the reporter, went 
to the barn to overhaul some harness. Left to his 
own devices, the preacher strolled slowly back 
toward the house. The warm sun had called forth 
the industrious inhabitants of half a dozen beehives, 
and their low droning hum came to his ears as he 
neared the house. The watch-dog lazily arose from 
its shady retreat on the porch and came forward, 
wagging a welcome. He smiled as he patted the 
shaggy head, and thought how like the noble ani- 
mahs trustfulness had been his welcome into this 
home. His explanation of ill-health in active pul- 
pit work, and a desire to seek a broader experience 
among his fellow men, had been glibly spoken, it’ 
is true, and the readiness with which the words were 
received as truth had cau'sed him to blush a little, 
and had drawn his heart toward these new-found 
friends as nothing else could have done. Pausing 
a moment to pet the dog, he decided not to enter 
the house. Aimlessly he strolled about, and then 
suddenly paused. Before him was the hammock, 
55 


56 //BARTS AND THE CROSS 

and in it lay Lorraine Wilson. A book she had 
been reading lay by her side, and a great red rose 
rested carelessly on her bosom. She had evidently 
fallen into a doze while reading. 

Long and earnestly he studied the fair face, and 
the same pallor that had come to him when he had 
observed her in the moonlight on the foot-log crept 
into his cheeks now, and a weakness came over him. 
His lips grew dry, and, trembling, he turned away, 
but an irresistible impulse caused him to once more 
turn his burning gaze upon the features of the 
sleeper. A tress of golden hair had escaped from 
its companions, and now a vagrant breeze caught 
it up in a wild glee dance and flung it like a caress 
across the face of the girl, and she opened her eyes 
to catch the burning, staring gaze of the preacher 
full upon her. A wave of red mounted slowly to 
her temples. In a moment his hat was off and he 
was stammering apologies. 

I assure you I meant no impertinence,” he said. 

‘‘ How stupid of me to have fallen asleep.” 

The reply he recognized as a compromise. It 
did not accord pardon, nor deny it. The voice came 
to him like an echo of — but he resolutely faced 
the present, and with his tongue moistened his lips, 
which were parched as if with a fever. 

I was pondering on — on a certain subject, and 
did not observe that the hammock was occupied until 
I was very close. You awoke just in time to detect 
what no doubt appeared an impertinent stare. May 
I not be forgiven ? ” 


WALKED WITH A LIMP 57 

The response was a gay laugh that rippled in 
such musical sweetness that he wondered if she 
had been taught it by the wild birds. 

“ Why, Rev — I mean Mr. Wayne, one would 
think that you had been detected in a heinous crime, 
judging from your tone. I was a little startled, 
perhaps, but I am sure that no offense was meant, 
and therefore I absolve you from any blame.” 

“ It is good of you,” he murmured, awkwardly, 
trying to frame the words that would permit him 
to slip away. 

There was a slight pause. She had caught a 
rope and was swinging herself gently. 

“ It will seem like old times to have sermons in 
the little church once more,” she said. 

I trust that I may be able to make the services 
of interest and profit to those who attend.” His 
voice sounded strangely formal, he told himself, 
and he struggled for more complete self-posses- 
sion. 

“ And your sermon for to-morrow, have you it 
prepared ? ” 

‘‘To tell the truth, I haven’t. I think I shall 
have to depend much on inspiration to-morrow. 
Somehow, I do not feel in the mood to-day to write 
a sermon. This is a most beautiful locality.” The 
last remark was far from relevant, but he had 
formed a resolve. 

“ The Valley of the Wabash embraces some pic- 
turesque spots, I assure you, Mr. Wayne. The 
‘ Sunny South ’ may be more famous in song, but 


58 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

the Indiana of to-day is one of our Uncle Samuel’s 
fairest gardens.” 

“ Do you think it equals Florida ? ” 

The question was put with apparent carelessness, 
but Wayne felt that the quaver in his voice be- 
trayed his eagerness and the purpose that he had 
endeavored to veil. 

The girl flashed him a sudden look of doubt, 
much the same as when he had referred to her mid- 
night walk through the woods. She was silent for 
a time, toying idly with the rose. Wayne dropped 
into a rustic bench and kicked at a leaf. 

That’s rather a strange question, Mr. Wayne.” 

“ Then I withdraw it with an apology.” 

“ But I should like to know what prompted it. 
What caused you to consider me a judge of Flori- 
da’s charms ? ” 

He was hardly prepared to answer, but he did 
so slowly and carefully, as if groping his way in 
the dark : ‘Ht must be that because I spent so many 
years there, I thought everybody must be acquainted 
with the State.” 

“ I never was in Florida.” 

He looked up quickly, surprise betraying itself 
in his eyes, and then, seeing that she was observing 
him closely, changed the subject abruptly. 

That is a beautiful rose,” he said 

“ And yet, see, just behind this petal there is a 
great, cruel thorn.” 

“ It is life.” 

‘‘ It is life, indeed. And too often are the thorns 


WALKED WITH A LIMP 59 

intentionally concealed by the petals/' She had 
stopped the swaying of the hammock. 

“ But if the giver does not see the thorn when 
he offers the rose ? " ^ 

“ In that case, though the wound would be as 
deep, there should be forgiveness for the donor." 

“ Practically the words of Christ, ‘ Father, for- 
give them ; they know not what they do.' " 

‘‘ And yet there is no quality so rare as that of 
forgiveness." 

“ My contention. It is the test of the Christ 
spirit." 

“ Then why not make it the burden of your ser- 
mon ? I am sure you could present the plea in such 
a manner that it would touch the heart of my — 
of many. There are those in the world who wor- 
ship God devoutly, but who have not a forgiving 
spirit for those who have wounded their pride. 
You say you shall depend on inspiration. Then 
let this be your inspiration." She held out to him 
the rose, and he took it with a feeling of reverence. 
“ ‘ The Rose and the Thorn, a Plea for Forgive- 
ness.' Is not that a good subject?" 

She had slipped out of the hammock and stood 
before him now, an eager light in her eyes, her 
hands clasped as though in prayer. 

“ It is a subject that appeals to me strongly. I 
shall weave my sermon around it." He pinned the 
blushing flower to the lapel of his coat. Then he 
noticed how cheap and poor the coat looked, but, 
after a moment’s hesitation, he let the rose remain. 


6o //BARTS AND THE CROSS 


A wren, perched in the branches above, began a 
trilling carol, and a robin joined in with his deeper 
notes. 

Your choir has begun rehearsal,’’ she said, with 
a laugh. 

“ Then I presume it is time to listen for a quar- 
rel between the soprano and the bass. They always 
have a tilt, you know.” 

“ That is one tribulation you will escape as pastor 
of the Walnut Grove Church, for the little flock 
depends on congregational singing.” 

“ And who shall say that it is not more inspiring 
than the so-called ‘ cultivated ’ voices of a salaried 
choir, looking forward to Easter as a heaven-sent 
time for the display of their spring bonnets, and 
to criticize the bonnets of others ? ” 

“ What a sensation you would create in a city 
church, Mr. Wayne. You will have to stifle those 
ideas when you leave this bit of Arcadia to take 
your place in the world.” 

My place in the world ? I have been in the 
Wabash Valley but a brief while, but I think that 
in the future ‘ my place in the world ’ is here.” 

Surely you are jesting.” 

“ Certainly I am not. Like others of the race 
of man, I have had ‘ ups and downs,’ but there is 
in the woods, the rolling hills, the breath from the 
Wabash, a restfulness that I have not found else- 
where. If ‘ home is where the heart is,’ my home 
is here.” 

“ It must have been a case of love at first sight.” 


WALKED WITH A LIMP 6i 


She sat down in the hammock again, and then half- 
reclined, and one dainty foot peeping from beneath 
her skirts tapped the ground and rocked the ham- 
mock. 

“ Nevertheless, a wee voice keeps singing to me : 

“ The storms of life may fiercely blow, 

And sorrow in surging tides may flow, 

Whatever may come, come joy, come woe. 

Still here, here, here, thy refuge forever, forever is here!” 

He had regained his self-control and rendered 
the bit of song with an unconscious fervor. She 
was silent, but he saw a tear stealing down from 
her half-averted eyes. His lips parted, but he 
checked the speech and waited. 

'' Where did you learn that song, Mr. Wayne? ’’ 
she asked at last. 

At college, I think. Is it a favorite of yours ? ’’ 

‘‘ Yes.’^ 

He waited for her to say more, but she did not. 
Instead, she plucked a leaf from a low-hanging 
bough and nervously pinched it into tiny bits. 

“ Do you sing it? he asked. 

“ No.” 

She rolled the bits of leaf into a ball and then 
flung it from her at random. In his heart he knew 
that she would resent any further inquiries on the 
subject. 

“ You have voiced a very pretty sentiment, Mr. 
Wayne, and I am sure that you have earned the 
plaudits and friendship of every Hoosier.” 


62 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


“ I think I shall be glad to become a ‘ Hoosier/ 
The name has been more or less intimately asso- 
ciated with hoop-poles and pumpkins in the past, 
it is true, but then Rome was mistress of the civ- 
ilized world in spite of the shadow of the arena/' 
And we are told that the cackling of geese 
saved Rome," she replied. 

“ And you mean — what ? " 

Oh, my meaning is obvious, I think. Anyway, 
the country’s attention was drawn closely to Indi- 
ana’s hoop-poles and pumpkins, but they ‘ who came 
to scoff remained to pray.’ The inquiring glances 
that were turned toward our State were rewarded 
with bird’s-eye views of one of the leading com- 
monwealths of the country, a State whose culture 
rivals that of the effete East." 

And whose women are loyal ‘ Hoosiers,’ " he 
added, with a faint smile. 

“ Because we are proud of the title. It is a 
synonym for ‘ industry ’ and ‘ progress.’ Indiana 
sometimes thinks and says some harsh things about 
those who heralded our hoop-poles and pumpkins 
to the world, but, after all, I believe that the State 
owes them a debt of gratitude for directing the 
gaze of humanity this way." 

‘‘ In that case, it was the petals concealed by the 
thorns. Mankind felt the prick of the sticker and 
discovered the fragrant flower." 

She gave him a look of gratitude. Mr. Wayne, 
you are proving such an enthusiast that I have about 
decided to make a confidant of you, and ask your 


WALKED WITH A LIMP 63 

assistance in solving that which is a mystery to 
me/’ 

I fear that I would prove an indifferent detec- 
tive, but I would feel honored by your confidence.” 

“ I think your Southern training has taught you 
a suspicion of flattery,” she said, with mock severity. 

‘‘ It has taught me to revere the truth and to 
be natural.” 

“ But to the point.” She suddenly faced him, 
and in her tone was deep earnestness. “ Can you 
imagine why two strange men with a pick and a 
spade should be skulking about this farm at mid- 
night ? ” 

Somehow the expression, skulking about this 
farm at midnight,” seemed a slap in his face, 
branding him with a measure of guilt he had not 
thought of before. Without waiting for a reply, 
she poured forth the story of the meeting in the 
woods while on her way home the night before, 
with the facts of which he was fully conversant. 
However, he dissembled and managed to display 
surprise at the proper points in the recital. How 
could he tell her that he, too, was skulking in the 
woods at midnight, and that with trembling limbs 
he was following her when she had encountered 
the men? And could he tell her that he knew she 
was evading the truth when she had declared that 
she had never been in Florida? 

His brain was in a tangle. He felt that he was 
not sure of anything. Did he not know that along 
the banks of the Suwanee there had once wan- 


64 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

dered in happy abandon a slip of a girl, with the 
blue of the violet nestling deep in her eye, with 
features fair and indelibly stamped on his memory, 
with a shapely head crowned with a wealth of golden 
hair, whose laugh was merry as the wild birds’ trill ? 
Was not this a reality? Was not this engraved on 
the pages of yesterday, or was he suddenly awak- 
ing from some peculiar mental delusion? He had 
once heard a noted specialist on mental diseases say 
that to the insane nothing was so real as the unreal. 
Briefly he recalled the years that had gone. The 
synopsis of his life was clear. His mind was not 
at fault. He could even recall having added his 
boyish baritone voice to a darky serenade one day 
at a picnic by the river, and, as the darkies had 
rowed the party homeward that night, he could 
remember how the soft rays of the Southern moon 
had glinted on the water; he could see yet the 
sprawling shadows of stately pine-trees that grew 
on the bank. He saw the bend in the river free 
from the shadows, and in the bow of the boat sat 
a slip of a girl, in whose spun-gold tresses the 
moonbeams danced. He heard the lap, lap, lapping 
of the water, as it embraced the boat, and he heard 
once more the song of the dusky oarsmen, and he 
remembered how they had all joined in on the 
chorus : 

“ Oh, the Suwanee River, slipping along. 

Is not a dream, but a liquid song.” 

And yet before him now sat this girl, radiantly 
fair, and in his dreams a divinity, and with the 


WALKED WITH A LIMP 65 

violet’s blue reflecting- in the windows of her soul, 
assuring him that she was a stranger to Florida. 
Was he to believe that the most crucial hours of 
his life were but shadows on a disordered brain? 
A joy leaped into his heart at the thought. It 
was a solace. But the reaction came in a moment, 
and left in his hands the ashes of this hope. The 
tangle in his brain became a snarl, and, out of all 
the conflicting emotions and hopes and doubts, he 
was sure of but one thing. He was certain that it 
was inexpressibly pleasant to be sitting thus, “ the 
world forgetting, by the world forgot,” conversing 
with this young lady who was to him at once a 
sunbeam and a shadow from the past, a tie of tan- 
gled lights and shadows between the Suwanee 
and the Wabash. Fie assured her that the men 
with the pick and spade very probably were belated 
laborers returning home after a carousal. 

“ Perhaps,” she said, and looked away. 

The old farmer came out into the yard and 
scanned the sky in a critical manner. 

“ You will be favored with nice weather for your 
first service, Mr. Wayne,” he observed, using a large 
palm-leaf fan vigorously. The girl sprang from 
the hammock. 

“ Come, take a swing, father.” 

‘‘No, I think I prefer the rustic,” and he seated 
himself beside Wayne. 

“ The hammock is certainly more comfortable,” 
persisted the daughter. 

“ But the settee is more reliable,” was the re- 


66 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


sponse. “ Hammocks are all right for the young, 
but a man of my years would prove a sorry acrobat 
in case it should take a tantrum, and it is my ob- 
servation that hammocks are subject to tantrums.” 
He smiled at his own quiet humor, and motioned 
her back to the hammock. 

“You have predicted fair weather for me, beware 
of the squaHs for yourself. Stick to the old reli- 
able rustic,” was Wayne’s laughing advice, and the 
old man stretched himself at his ease and fanned 
vigorously. 

“ The world is getting pretty swift nowadays, 
Mr. Wayne. When I came to Tyler County, ox- 
teams were rapid transit. To-day they are planning 
an electric line that will pick the farmer up at his 
door and set him down at his neighbor’s or in town, 
just as he chooses.” 

“ Then it is really a fact that Tyler County is 
to have an electric line?” 

“ So Mr. Miller says, and I must say that young 
man seems to know everything — ” 

“ Except ’possums,” broke in the girl, the corners 
of her mouth twitching. 

The old man chuckled. “ Well, he knows more 
about that subject than he did twenty-four hours 
ago, I guess. But the Riverside papers have been 
full of electric-line talk for some time, so I guess 
he’s right.” 

“And it is to pass right by our house, Mr. 
Wayne, — that is, if they get the right of way,” 
added Lorraine. 


WALKED WITH A LIMP 67 

The farmer sighed. “ Yes, there’s going to be 
trouble on that subject, I fear. One company has 
been sending its. agents around among the farmers, 
trying to get them in a mood to vote a subsidy 
for the road, but another company is now declaring 
its willingness to build the line without any sub- 
sidy, if they can get the right of way.” 

“ Then I should think the question would be easy 
of settlement,” said Wayne. 

“ Not so easy as it might at first appear. The 
first company declares that it means business and 
will build the road, and that the other fellows are 
engaged in an attempt to get the county into their 
hands, so to speak, and then sell out to Eastern 
capitalists, who, after dilly-dallying and driving the 
other fellows out of the field, will demand a bigger 
subsidy than ever. The question of ordering a 
special election for the purpose of voting on the 
subsidy proposition is now before the board of 
county commissioners.” 

A rural route for free mail delivery is to be 
established in this vicinity in a few months, Mr. 
Wayne,” added the girl. ‘‘ And then, with an elec- 
tric line at our doors, we will be in town in the 
country. Oh, yes, a farmer’s cooperative telephone 
company is being organized, also, and we can soon 
sit in our houses and listen to your sermons at 
Walnut Grove Church.” She had left the hammock 
and was standing at her father’s side, stroking his 
white locks with an unconscious tenderness. 

There were two men at my house a day or two 


68 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


ago, talking subsidy,’' said the farmer, full of the 
subject, though Wayne was heartily tired of it. 
But the old man’s next words put him in a different 
mood. '' I don’t like their looks, somehow. One 
of them was dressed like a Dunkard, but I believe 
he did that for effect. The other fellow did all 
of the talking. He seemed to be the leader, and, 
when he went limping away, the Dunkard followed 
like a pet dog.” 

Wayne suddenly roused, and, slapping his hat on 
his head, faced the farmer eagerly. 

“Limped away, did you say?” He looked at 
the girl out of the corner of his eye as he asked 
the question, but if he expected the query to affect 
her in any way he was disappointed. 

“ Well, a sort of a limp. I couldn’t help but 
notice his walk. Seemed like something was wrong 
with one knee.” 

“ Lorraine ! Lo-r-r-aine ! ” The voice came from 
the house. 

“ Coming, mother. You must excuse me, Mr. 
Wayne,” and she ran across the lawn with an easy 
gracefulness that brought back vividly to the 
preacher the memory of the night before, when he 
had seen her dart away from the men in the woods. 

“ Guess I’ll go in, too. You can have it all to 
yourself for study.” And the old man walked 
slowly toward the house. 

Wayne sat with wrinkled brow a moment. Then 
he smote the rustic arm with his open palm, as 
though ^conviction had entered his mind. 


WALKED WITH A LIMP 69 

‘‘ Limped away/' The words had given him a 
thread which he hoped would unravel at least a 
part of the tangled skein. He recalled now that 
the man who had carried the spade walked with a 
peculiar halting movement of his right leg. And 
memory brought to him the face of another man, 
and his lips tightened into a straight line as the 
name came to his tongue. But he did not utter the 
word. Instead, he spat upon the ground. His 
contempt and loathing for the name was such that, 
even when alone, he would not give it utterance. 
But in the force of sudden thought his tongue had 
half-curled To pronounce it, and it seemed to leave 
a bad taste in his mouth. 

He arose and paced nervously back and forth 
under the trees. The perfume of lilacs was in the 
air and stole to his brain like an anaesthetic of the 
gods sent to calm and ease the torturing pain of 
wild regrets, of memory assailed by doubts, of the 
present stung by suspicions. ‘‘ Limped away." The 
words seemed burning themselves into his soul. 
Then he laughed aloud, and the watch-dog, which 
had curled up contentedly under a cherry-tree for 
a doze, opened its eyes and half-arose, startled by 
the scornfulness of his laugh. He was a fool, he 
told himself, and this sudden outburst of unnatural 
merriment was an acknowledgment of the fact. 
Supposing the electric-line agent did limp, and sup- 
posing the man with the spade had a most peculiar 
gait, what of it? It proved nothing. He felt that 
his laugh was not sufficient acknowledgment of his 


70 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

folly in attaching weight to such trifles as a limp. 
He must speak his self-ridicule. A boy whistling 
along a lonely road at the weird hours of night may 
feel his courage rising, but by breaking into a shout- 
ing, rollicking song he increases his self-assurance 
tenfold. Wayne turned to the dog. 

“I am a fool ! he declared, solemnly. The dog 
seemed to realize that something was expected of 
him, so he wagged his tail in hearty approval. The 
preacher felt a smile in the muscles of his face, but 
it did not live to reach his lips. 

“ Glad to see that you agree with me,’' he con- 
tinued, with grim humor. “ I must be a fool to 
get worked up over vapors. A limp ! Pah ! Thou- 
sands of men limp, Bruno, and you know it! ” An- 
other vigorous tail wagging. “ The man with the 
spade and the electric-line promoter may have been 
the same, but what of it ? Nothing of it. Of course 
I don’t know what he was doing in the woods, but 
I’ll find out. But that is neither here nor there in 
this case that you and I are considering, Bruno. 
We know it wasn’t — him. We know it wasn’t. 
Fate plays strange pranks with mortals; fiction is 
solvable, a mere tracing of the human mind, but 
fate is unsolvable, the demonstrations of a divine 
power. Aye, it plays strange pranks, for has it 
not brought me to — her ? ” His voice sank to a 
whisper. He stroked the head of the animal a mo- 
ment in silence. 

I do not question the workings of fate, Bruno, 
for it is omnipotent, but my theology does not teach 


WALKED WITH A LIMP 71 

me that the grave ever gives up its dead until that 
Great Day, when we shall all be judged. The pro- 
moter limped and the night-prowler limped, but 
the dead do not limp. There are coincidences, 
Bruno, but the age of miracles passed when Christ 
paid the debt of the world upon the Cross. We are 
told that He sits on the Father’s right hand and 
intercedes for us. The great God knows it all, 
Bruno! The Christ who passed from the Manger 
to the Cross knows the weaknesses of men, and the 
innocent and the guilty are recorded; the motives 
of an action are placed in the scales, and we shall 
not suffer beyond our deserts, Bruno. Glory and 
praise to God, we shall be judged rightly there I ” 
He sank to his knees and with outstretched arms 
poured out the words, his voice trembling with 
emotion and rising plaintively, as if appealing to 
the faithful animal who now crept into his arms 
and laid his muzzle against the face of the sobbing 
man. A human heart was crying out for sympathy ; 
a soul was groping for vindication; the reason of 
man was appealing to the instinct of the brute, and 
instinct rose superior to reason and accorded justice 
where reason had measured out injustice. The dog, 
with its dumb caresses, was declaring confidence 
and fealty. The man rose to his feet, and the soft 
winds kissed the moisture from his eyes. The anaes- 
thetic of the gods was stealing from his heart the 
pain. He walked aimlessly, uncertainly away. A 
butterfly hovered for a moment on the rim of his 


72 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

hat, and he paused lest he disturb it. Then it flew 
away. 

‘‘ God’s humblest creatures are my friends,” he 
said, and walked on. 

When he stopped the broad turnpike lay before 
him. A paling fence, painted white, separated the 
yard from the road, and he leaned against this, his 
elbows on the stringer. Rays of heat danced in the 
sunlight, and over in the woods pasture the cattle 
lay or stood in the shelter of the walnut-trees, ex- 
erting themselves only to switch the flies away with 
their ever swinging tails. A woodpecker drummed 
on the gaunt skeleton of a tree, and the sound came 
to him with startling distinctness. A cloud of dust 
arose where the road made a turn a quarter of a 
mile away, and a buggy came in sight. Mechani- 
cally he watched it approaching, the horse jog-trot- 
ting just fast enough to keep ahead of its own dust 
cloud and not fast enough to be wearisome. The 
driver, evidently a farmer in prosperous circum- 
stances, nodded pleasantly and passed on. Other 
rigs followed more or less closely. A wagon with 
two spring seats and drawn by a spirited team rat- 
tled by, the farmer and his wife and son occupying 
the front seat, while his three daughters, bright- 
eyed, rosy-cheeked lasses in cool-looking dresses and 
many ribbons, scrouged together in the last seat, 
the entire family giving the man at the fence a look 
of inquiring curiosity as they passed on. 

‘‘ On to Craigville for Saturday shopping and 
visiting,” said a voice behind him. 


WALKED WITH A LIMP 73 

Wayne recognized the tones of Paragraph before 
he turned. The reporter stood fanning himself 
with his straw hat clutched in one hand, and mop- 
ping his brow with a handkerchief held in the 
other. A honey-bee came sailing by, and he flicked 
at it with his kerchief. 

“ Get in the shade, my busy, buzzy friend, or 
you’ll get sunstruck,” he said. 

The preacher laughed. His was a buoyant 
nature, and, having been forced into the slough of 
despond, his spirits were now responding to the 
reaction. ' 

“ Parson,” said the reporter, stuffing his hand- 
kerchief back into his pocket, “ there may be ‘ rare ’ 
days in June, but this one is well done.” 

“ It certainly is warm to-day.” 

‘‘Warm! Your words are impotent. You 
should have been born a woman. A woman can 
gad about on a scorching day and keep every hair 
just so, every piece of linen unsoiled, her face per- 
fectly dry and calm-looking. Of course she may fan 
a little, but she acts as though it is for style rather 
than because it’s hot. How about a man? Wet 
with perspiration, his clothes bedraggled, his hair 
mussed up, his face like a lobster I ” 

“ I really believe you are right, Mr. Miller.” 

“ Of course I’m right. But don’t call me ‘ Mr. 
Miller.’ No one does that except a creditor, or 
Susanna when she has a cyclone up her sleeve. 
Make it ‘ Bill,’ or ‘ Paragraph.’ ” 


74 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

“ Then it shall be Paragraph. If there’s merit in 
advertising you shall have your calling known.” 

“ That’s good. I always shy at the ‘ Mister.’ 
A man who has hunted rabbits, walnuts, and paw- 
paws with you all your life and called you ‘ Bill ’ 
from the date of your first school day, will stiffen 
his neck and address you as ‘ Mister ’ when he has 
a bill to collect. Sort of wants you to know that 
you can’t take refuge behind the walnut-tree, I 
guess.” 

He was once more mopping the perspiration 
from his brow. Then suddenly he waved his hat 
at a young man in a buggy, and shouted: 

“Hello, Jim!” 

With an exclamation of surprise the driver 
stopped, and Miller hopped over the fence and ran 
out to shake hands with him. After a moment’s 
conversation the man spoke to his horse and drove 
on, laughing heartily at something the reporter 
had said. 

“ That’s Jim Gordon,” said Miller, returning to 
Wayne, and climbing back over the picket fence 
as carefully as though he considered it a danger- 
ous feat. “Jim’s the duly accredited country cor- 
respondent for the Siwi from this section. He never 
fails to mention the fact that ‘ So-and-so has a new 
rubber-tired buggy. Put on your best smiles, girls ; ’ 
‘ Items are scarce as hen’s teeth ; ’ ‘ The assessor 
is abroad in the land. Take to the caves;’ ‘The 
politician is tuning up for his siren song to the 
voters.’ ” 


WALKED WITH A LIMP 75 

“Do you keep them in type ready for use?” 
asked the preacher, laughing. 

“ Oh, no, we pay him the compliment of setting 
them up each time. But Jim’s all right. He works 
in lots of good stuff, and always has his eyes open 
for the SMn. We have a big list of subscribers in 
this community as a result. Everlasting hustle with 
attention to small things is the price of a good sub- 
scription list. That motto ought to be framed in 
every country newspaper office.” 

Wayne nodded. He enjoyed his companion’s 
talk, and was gaining an insight into the inner life 
of the community, something he very much de- 
sired. 

“ Jim’s got as fine an eighty-acre farm as there 
is around here, too,” continued Miller. “ He lives 
with his parents, though, and rents his farm. 
There’s where Lorraine boards, when she’s teach- 
ing.” 

“ Ah ! ” Wayne mumbled the exclamation. He 
found himself glancing down the road at the buggy 
disappearing in a little cloud of dust, and he wished 
that he had taken a better look at Mr. James 
Gordon. 

“ Folks say Jim’s heels over head in love with 
Lorraine, and that he’s been trying to get the trustee 
to add another month to the school term, in order 
to keep her near him.” 

The dust cloud down the road still hung in the 
air, and Wayne scowled at it. He knew of no rea- 
son for doing so, but the patch of gray slowly dis- 


76 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

appearing across the fields annoyed him. He turned 
to Paragraph. 

You have known her a long time? ” 

“ Several years.'' 

“ And — and I believe she has — been — married 
once, has she not ? " 

Miller placed his hat on his head again, rammed 
his hands deep into his pockets, and then looked 
hard at the preacher. 

Parson," he said, I took a liking to you from 
the first, an^.as a friend I advise you to go lie down. 
The heat has affected your head." 

Wayne reddened under the rather scathing sar- 
casm. “ But I had that impression, somehow," 
he said, slowly. 

‘‘ A lot of people once had the impression that 
the moon was made of green cheese, too." 

“ I don’t want to be impertinent or persistent, but 
perhaps she was — away from here for a time and 
— was married then." He was determined to press 
the subject, now that the die was cast. 

Miller said nothing for a moment. Then he 
spoke carefully and distinctly, as though weighing 
each word before voicing it. 

“ She was away, it is true. She attended a sem- 
inary down South some place, I forget where. But 
she was not married." 

‘‘You are certain?" 

“ Are you certain of the divine inspiration of 
the holy writ?" Miller's manner had sobered, and 
was deeply earnest. 


WALKED WITH A LIMP 77 

“ Then perhaps Gordon’s suit may prosper.” 

“ I have not presumed to judge her private af- 
fairs.” Then, as if conscious that his tone and 
words were unduly sharp, he added, in a softer 
mood : “ But the man who wins her must be all that 
the name implies. However, so far as I know, 
Gordon is all of that.” 

Wayne made no reply, but turned again to the 
fence and rested his elbows on the stringer. 

“ Are you going to Craigville with Joe and me, 
this afternoon ? ” he asked, irrelevantly. 

“ I think not. Major Wilson (that’s the old 
man’s title, you know) discovered a weak place in 
his corn-crib this morning, and I promised to help 
him fix it this afternoon. I am rather overstaying 
my usual visit, and I feel that I ought to earn my 
bread. The Major would feel hurt if he heard me 
express it in that way, but Craigville has no charms 
for me and — this farm — has. So I’ll stay here.” 

“ Then your visits are not usually as long as 
this?” 

Nope. Fact is. Parson, I have decided to stay 
over another day to hear you preach.” 

“ Miller, you don’t know how I appreciate that. 
I hardly know what I shall say, but the kindness I 
have received here ought to inspire one to preach 
the love of God and the brotherhood of man.” 

“ Best people in the world, right here on the 
Wabash.” 

The two had turned, and were walking slowly 
back toward the hammock. Wayne made a move- 


78 NBA RTS AND THE CROSS 

ment as though to occupy the hammock, then sud- 
denly changed his mind, and sat down in the rustic. 

“ I believe I’ll rest here a bit and try to study out 
a line of thought for my sermon,” he said. 

‘‘ Then I’ll leave you alone in your glory, for I 
might cause your think-tank to spring a leak.” 
Paragraph walked away, his thumbs in the arm- 
holes of his vest, and whistling a gay topical song 
of the day. 

Why had he not taken the hammock? Wayne 
asked himself the question, but found no answer. 
Some distorted fancy had impressed him that it 
would be a trespass, and that was all he could 
muster as an excuse. He knew the fancy was dis- 
torted. He congratulated himself that he knew it. 

“ You’re a fool. Bob Wayne.” It acted as a 
safety-valve, and he felt better. 

Rising, he went into the house. No one was 
in sight, and he passed into his room and closed 
the door. Taking off his coat he threw it on the 
bed, and then suddenly clutched at it. In the but- 
tonhole was a great red rose, and he unpinned it, 
throwing the coat back. Clasping the rose in both 
hands, he held it before him and drank in its beauty. 

“ Let this be your inspiration.” 

An inspiration for his sermon on forgiveness. 
Could there be a greater inspiration than that 
which was rending his soul ? He caught his breath 
with a gasp. From another room came the words 
of a song, in a subdued tone, sweetened with the 
quaver of age: 


WALKED WITH A LIMP 79 

“Jesus, lover of my soul, 

Let me to Thy bosom fly.” 

He sank to his knees, his hands clasping the 
flower. 


“ Other refuge have I none. 

Hangs my helpless soul on thee.” 

His head drooped, and a fervent prayer welled 
up from his heart while his frame shook with emo- 
tion. His eyes were hidden in his arms, and a 
plea for God's mercy swept the fibres of his soul. 

“ Leave, oh, leave me not alone. 

Still support and comfort me.” 

The fragrance of the rose, the anaesthetic of the 
gods, crept into his brain and stilled its throbbing. 
Out of the darkness a great Cross gleamed white 
and clear, and at its foot stood an angel with golden 
hair, clothed in white, and with a sceptre of roses 
pointing him to Calvary. 


CHAPTER V. 


WHEN CRAIGVILLE AWOKE 

RAIGVILLE had yawned and stretched her- 



self after her week’s doze. The rattle of 


farm-wagons and the bustling of farmers 
and their families had injected a new energy into 
the town. 

The business part of the village was built in an 
‘‘ L ” shape, the long stem (but not very long in 
this instance) being flanked on either side by 
grocery stores, a hardware store, notion stores, a 
bank, and general merchandise stores. In the 
centre of this row of commerce was a large, square- 
built frame house with a long bench on the walk in 
front, and on this bench half a dozen of the town 
loafers and wits sunned themselves, whittled on 
odd sticks, and spat at the cracks in the board walk, 
with very indifferent aim. A triangular cloth-cov- 
ered sign extending out over the walk bore in black 
square letters, a trifle uneven, the words, “ Tyler 
House.” Jacob Hausman, the proprietor and land- 
lord, had originally named the hostelry the “ Craig- 
ville House,” but when the cloth and board part 
of the sign was completed, it was found that the 


8o 


WHEN CRAIGVILLE AWOKE 8i 


name was altogether too long for the space by 
about three letters, so as the sign did not fit the 
name, a name had to be chosen to fit the sign. 

“ The old story of Mahomet and the mountain,’' 
said Jacob, shaking his fat sides with laughter, as 
though the joke was thoroughly enjoyable. “It’s 
a proud old name, anyway. ‘ Tippecanoe and 
Tyler, too.’ If a man with that name could be old 
‘ Tippecanoe ’ Harrison’s running mate and occupy 
the Vice-Presidential chair, and if this here county 
can go right on raising the best crops in the State 
under the name of Tyler, I guess Jake Hausman 
can keep a tavern by that name.” 

This was one of the longest speeches that Jacob 
had ever been known to make, but the occasion 
demanded something out of the ordinary. A rival 
had once tried to compete with Hausman in the 
hotel business, but he soon gave it up. The rivals 
were at every train coming into the town, Haus- 
man fat, full-blooded, and the picture of good 
health ; his rival, scrawny, hollow-cheeked, and 
looking as though he had an engagement with the 
undertaker. One glance at the two who stood side 
by side on the station platform soliciting patron- 
age, and the traveler invariably handed his grip 
to Hausman, certain that a hotel that nourished 
that hearty-looking being was the one for a hungry 
man to seek. 

“ Nature’s handicapped me, and I give up,” said 
the rival, after a few weeks of disappointment, and 
he took down his sign. 


82 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


On the short spur of the “ L ’’ was a livery- 
stable, a coal office, and a blacksmith shop, the 
latter presided over by Mr. Timothy Craig, whose 
paternal grandfather had built the first cabin on 
the site of the present village, more than half a 
century before. Peace and plenty had come, smil- 
ing, to the community, but the rush and roar of 
traffic had selected Riverside for its vortex, leaving 
a quiet, peaceful growth and existence for Craig- 
ville, as it came to be known when the railroad 
pushed a line up through that section. 

When Joe and Wayne drove up to the blacksmith 
shop that afternoon, with two big farm horses plod- 
ding behind their buggy, they found the shop de- 
serted for the time being; that is, deserted by all 
except the smith, who sat on an empty nail keg 
near the door, his head in his hands and his elbows 
on his knees, industriously studying a scrap of 
paper spread out on his leathern apron. 

Wake up, Tim! shouted Joe, springing from 
the buggy, closely followed by Wayne. 

Timothy looked up, then, without replying, 
turned his attention once more to the paper, while 
the two men tied the horse they had driven and led 
the two others into the shop. 

‘‘ Confound it, Joe, you made me lose them ! ” 
exclaimed Craig, in a tone of vexation. 

“Lose what, — a few winks of sleep?’’ 

“ Sleep, nothing ! Look here ! ” He held up a 
picture torn from a newspaper. “ There’s the puz- 
zle picture printed in this week’s Sun, and it’s a 


WHEN CRAIGVILLE AWOKE 83 

tough one, I tell you. I had it just about worked 
v/hen you made me jump, and now I’ll be dinged 
if I can make heads or tails out of it.” 

“ Oh, you’ll find it after awhile. In the mean- 
time, shake hands with Reverend Wayne, Mr. 
Craig.” 

The smith got up from the keg, and, after care- 
fully wiping his hands on the under side of his 
apron, grasped the preacher’s hand and gave it a 
shake that reminded Wayne of a time when he 
had once unwittingly picked up the handle of an 
electric battery. 

As Craig stood before him the preacher had a 
chance to measure him. Tall and angular, he was 
the picture of health unhampered by surplus flesh. 
A square jaw and a hawk-like nose were the fea- 
tures of his face, which was plentifully adorned 
with freckles, and a mass of tawny hair showed 
the route traveled by smutty fingers in pushing it 
back from his brow. Wayne felt that he should 
like the smith. 

Are you much on puzzle pictures. Parson ? ” 
asked Craig. 

“ I must confess that I am a poor hand at them,” 
replied Wayne, amused at the other’s deep interest 
in the subject. 

“ No, no, Tim, he don’t care anything about puz- 
zle pictures. We want to get some shoes tacked 
on these horses. Never mind the puzzle.” 

“ All right, Joe, but that’s the best one the Sim 


84 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

ever printed. Bess said she never was so interested 
in one before.’’ 

“Um — ah — she did, eh? Well, now, they are 
interesting, that’s a fact.” He had started for the 
door, but now, with rather a sheepish glance at 
Wayne, he turned back. “ Let’s see that paper, 
Tim.” 

Tim set down his kit of tools, and fished the 
paper out of his pocket. 

By the way, are you well, Tim? ” asked Joe. 

“ The despair of undertakers,” the smith re- 
sponded, expanding his chest. 

“ And your mother? ” 

“ Tolerable.” He unfolded the paper, holding it 
by the outer edges in order to keep it from being 
soiled. 

“ Oh, yes, and how is — Bess ? ” 

Wayne glanced at him, and noted the telltale 
flush on his handsome young face, and understood, 
but Tim had comprehension for nothing but the 
baffling lines of the puzzle. 

Pert as ever,” he said, mechanically. “ She’s 
helping at the pDst-offlce again to-day. But if this 
ain’t the best puzzle you ever looked at, I’m a goat. 
Listen, and I’ll read it to you : ‘ A Search for Cap- 
tain Kidd’s Buried Treasure. Find two men, one 
with a pick and one with a shovel.’ ” 

“What do you mean? Let’s see that paper!” 
Wayne snatched it, believing that the smith was 
playing a part, but he had read aright. He bit 
his lip, and handed the paper back. After all, how 


WHEN CRAIGVILLE AWOKE 85 

could Craig know anything about the two men in 
real life? He must learn more self-control. 

“ I told you it was interesting, Joe. Got the 
Parson all worked up already. Hey?” 

Joe looked inquiringly at his companion, puzzled 
by his sudden outburst. 

Wayne forced a laugh. “ Yes, it almost upset 
me. You see, when I was a boy — I — saw a 
— puzzle picture which — read like that. I won- 
dered if it was the same.” For the sake of others 
he could not tell the truth just then, and he felt that 
the untruth would be forgiven him. 

Well, that would stir a fellow some,” admitted 
Tim, going to the bellows and beginning to pump 
the fire into a blaze. 

Joe sat down on the keg with the picture in his 
hand, and pretended to be studying it. “ Some 
Sunday you and Bess and your mother had better 
drive out to Walnut Grove Church. Mr. Wayne 
is going to preach there,” he said, with an attempt 
at carelessness. 

“Shucks! You don’t say! Goin’ to preach at 
Walnut Grove, eh? Well, it’s been quite a spell 
since there’s been any Bible pounding — I mean, 
preaching — there.” He gave the fire a vigorous 
poke to cover his confusion. “ What denomina- 
tion?” he asked, turning to Wayne, who was 
standing in the doorway. 

“ Com — I mean, we’ve agreed to let denomina- 
tions alone, and stick to the Bible.” 

“ Good thing. Denominations fight while the 


86 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


devil laughs. ‘ Stick to the Bible and vote the Re- 
publican ticket.' That’s my motto.” He had 
jerked one old shoe off a horse and was paring the 
hoof. 

“ Well, I think I can steer clear of politics,” said 
Wayne, good-naturedly. 

“What? In IndianaC^ exclaimed the smith, 
dropping the hoof. 

“ Certainly. Why not ? ” 

Timothy strode to the forge, and tucked a shoe 
in the fire, covering it carefully with the glowing 
coals. Then he seized the bellows handle and be- 
gan forcing the draught. He looked at Wayne al- 
most scornfully. 

“ Why not? Why notf Why don’t violets 
grow in Klondike ? Why don’t icebergs float in the 
Gulf of Mexico? Because the atmosphere won’t 
permit of it, that’s why. That’s your answer, too.” 

Joe laughed, as he looked at Wayne’s puzzled 
face. “ Oh, Bob will get into politics fast enough, 
Tim,” he said. “ He just thinks he won’t. You 
see, he hasn’t been a Hoosier long enough to be- 
come acclimated yet. He’s from the South.” 

“ Well, I assure you that I intend being a loyal 
Hoosier, anyway,” responded the preacher. “ And 
if politics is a necessity I’ll face the issue.” 

Craig fitted the red-hot shoe, and the smell of 
burning hoof arose. He inspected it carefully be- 
fore replying. 

“ Now you’re talking. And the issue this fall 
will be the same thing it was four years ago — 


WHEN CRAIGVILLE AWOKE 87 

gold standard against free silver. McKinley’s sure 
to be renominated, and Byran’s just as sure to be 
named. That don’t leave — whoa ! — any middle 
ground. Jap Munson and I locked horns proper 
the other day, and dinged if I don’t believe half the 
town crowded around to hear us argue. Jap gal- 
loped back to ’73 and — stand still, what’s the mat- 
ter with you ? — brought up the Crime, and for 
about half an hour there was more free silver and 
aristocratic gold laying around here than there ever 
was before. Oh, she’s goin’ — whoa ! — to be a 
warm one. Parson.” The hammer beat a rat-a-tat 
on the shoe as the nails were driven home. 

Joe had stepped out on the walk, and was talking 
with a passing acquaintance, and Wayne decided 
to begin his investigation at once. 

There are a good many teams in town ; I sup- 
pose you have been quite busy to-day,” he said. 

“ Just got set down five minutes before you fel- 
lows come.” 

“ Shod any strange horses ? ” 

‘‘ N-0-0.” The answer was hesitating. Wayne 
looked at him inquiringly. 

‘‘ Well, there was one bit of work I did that 
kind o’ puzzled me,” he said. I’d swear the horse 
wasn’t a strange one, but a stranger had him.” 

But of course that was nothing strange.” 
Wayne’s tone was careless, but in it was an insinua- 
tion that he would like to hear more. 

No, but the man came to my house before 
breakfast, and said he was in a tearing hurry to 


88 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


drive to Riverside, and his horse had lost a shoe. 
So I came down to the shop to do the work.” He 
was back at the bellows again, working the handle 
with long sweeps. The horse was a fine-looking 
gray, and looked familiar to me. I asked him if 
he owned the animal, and he spoke right up and 
said that he had hired it in Riverside to drive down 
into the country to visit some Dunkard friends. 
He was dressed like a Dunkard, himself. Well, I 
took up the horse’s foot, and I’ll be dinged if I 
wasn’t surprised then. That hoof was broken in 
a most peculiar manner. About two inches right 
in front had been torn off clear in to the flesh. 
There was the puzzle. Jim Gordon, out here in the 
country, owns a horse just like that, gray, and with 
the same hoof torn in the same way. I doctored 
the foot when it was first hurt, anjd I’ve shod it 
several times since.” 

A queer coincidence, truly.” 

“ I should say so. I mentioned it to the fellow, 
and he jumped like he was shot, and ripped out a 
big cuss word. Said he hadn’t noticed it before, 
and then muttered something about ‘damn fool,’ 
meaning the liveryman, I suppose. But I tell you, 
Parson, that was queer talk for a Dunkard.” 

“ You’re right, it was. But all men do not live 
up to their clothes.” Then, as if attempting a 
joke, he added : “ And did the man limp as if he 
also had a bad foot ? ” 

The hammer was playing on the red-hot shoe, 
beating it into the proper shape, and occasionally 


WHEN CRAIGVILLE AWOKE 89 

making the anvil ring while the smith turned the 
shoe. 

“No, he walked as straight as a string, even if 
he did talk crooked. ’’ 

“ By himself ? 

“ Yes, by himself in a single buggy.” 

“ Come on, Wayne, let’s go up-town,” said Joe, 
from the doorway. “ Be back after the horses this 
evening,” he called to Tim, as the two started 
away. 

It was near the middle of the afternoon, and 
some of the farmers were already homeward bound, 
their vehicles laden with bundles. With the instinct 
of every true Southerner, Wayne noted with ad- 
miration the horses. Occasionally would be seen 
a scrawny animal, with harness tied together with 
ropes and strings, but, as a rule, they were sleek, 
well-fed beasts, full of life, and wearing harness 
that fit and was serviceable. Farm-wagons were 
plentiful, but he was surprised to see several family 
carriages also, while occasionally a rubber-tired 
buggy whizzed by with some young swain and 
his sweetheart laughing and calling gaily to those 
whom they passed on the road. They turned the 
corner of the “ L ” and were on Main Street. 

“ Craigville’s Broadway,” said Joe, with a laugh. 

A crowd of small boys had preempted a goodly 
portion of a graveled walk for a game of marbles, 
and were shouting to each other in a manner that 
indicated deafness on the part of all. Out in the 
street two or three older boys were practising 


90 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

throwing curves with a baseball. The stores were 
doing a rushing business, the clerks and the cus- 
tomers joking good-naturedly with each other and 
discussing the coming crop. Bill ” and ‘‘ John ” 
and “ Sam were more frequently heard than 

Mister.^' Dunkards were numerous, the men in 
their broad felt hats, queer-cut jean coat and 
trousers, and the women in plain gowns and bon- 
nets. But from their clear eyes shone souls of 
purity; lives of righteousness were reflected in 
their faces. They were the only ones who refrained 
from talking politics. A Dunkard will discuss re- 
ligion by the hour, but wild horses could not drag 
him into a political discussion. 

Wayne had supposed that Joe would head 
straight for the post-oflice, but he did not. Instead, 
he attended to various other affairs at different 
stores, and at last the preacher concluded that the 
young man did not particularly care for company 
while at the office. Perhaps he could get the mail 
and purchase Jap Munson’s stamps of Bess Craig 
much better if a third party were not present. 

“ Joe, you attend to your business matters, and 
I’ll knock around a little by myself. I like to study 
these people,” he said. 

‘‘ Why, of course. That’s a good idea. I’ll see 
you along here some place after awhile.” His tone 
betrayed an eagerness that brought a smile to the 
preacher’s lips. 

He strolled down the street aimlessly, enjoying 
his first taste of Indiana village life. Half a dozen 


WHEN CRAIGVILLE AWOKE 91 

boys and men were pitching horseshoes, a substi- 
tute for quoits, in an open space between two build- 
ings. Across the street was the Tyler House, and 
in front was a crowd, jammed together and tiptoe- 
ing to see the central figures. The loafers on the 
bench stood up on the seat to see. Occasionally a 
‘‘ haw-haw ” of laughter and a half-cheer arose. 
As he was sightseeing, Wayne yielded to curiosity 
and crossed the street. Edging his way into the 
crowd, he tiptoed with the rest and caught frag- 
ments of an excited speaker’s words : “ . . . das- 
tardly crime of ’73 . . . silver degraded. . . ^ 
The voice was certainly familiar, but Wayne was 
unable to decide as to the speaker’s identity. The 
other man came in with his reply, fragmentary as 
caught by the preacher : “ . . . dollar that can 

travel around the world and be respected . . . 
we’ll expand and take our place . . . nations of 
the world.” A hum of applause, and then : ‘‘ . . . 
plutocracy . . . emperor . . . haul down the flag 
. . . dollar of our dads . . . answer me; answer 
me\ ” Then he knew. Jap Munson was in the 
centre of that group “ locking horns,” as Timothy 
Craig had expressed it, with some Republican. No 
other man could demand an answer in quite the 
triumphant tone of voice affected by Munson. In- 
stinctively he listened for the crack of his black- 
snake, but he realized that the quarters were too 
close for a man of even Munson’s proficiency. 

He had about decided to leave the saving of the 
country to the two orators and their numerous 


92 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

interested auditors, when a sudden scuffle almost 
behind him attracted his attention. Quickly turn- 
ing, he saw a tall young man holding another man 
by the collar and dragging him out of the crowd. 
He followed the couple, but most of those who had 
heard the scuffle preferred a political argument to 
a fight, so they soon stood comparatively alone. 

“ Hand over my watch, you dirty thief ! ex- 
claimed the captor. 

“I no take your watch, Meester; I no take it.” 

The reply was a whining plea for innocence, and, 
as Wayne got a full look at the cringing fellow, 
he recognized him as a type of that mysterious 
nomad, the gypsy. His swarthy face was pallid 
with fear, and he half-crouched, clinging to the arm 
that held him, his battered felt hat clutched in one 
hand. 

“You lie, you dog; hand it over, or I’ll tear 
you to pieces ! ” And the speaker shook him as a 
dog would a rat. 

A howl of terror and a volume of jargon mixed 
with a little English, “ I no do eet ! I no do eet ! ” 
was the only response. 

“What’s the matter, Jim?” asked a bystander. 

“ Simply that, while I was in the crowd, this 
lizard of the earth jammed against me and stole 
my watch. Damn him ! ” In a sudden burst of 
rage, he dealt the cringing wretch a blow with his 
open hand that staggered him and would have sent 
him to the ground had not the arm of his assailant 
held him. 


WHEN CRAIG V/LLE AWOKE 93 

The coward! ” muttered Wayne, biting his lips. 

‘‘ O-h-h I Maircy, Meester. I no take yer watch. 
Sairch me. By the blessed Virgin, I no — 

The protest was stopped by another heavy blow 
full on the mouth, cutting the man’s lips on his teeth 
and causing the blood to flow. 

The preacher could stand idly by no longer. 
Fairly choking with indignation, he sprang for- 
ward and seized the gypsy’s assailant by the collar, 
and with the other hand broke his grasp on the 
cowering wanderer. With the strength of a sudden 
rage, he flung the man back, causing him to stagger 
and then fall sprawling on the walk. 

You brute!” he exclaimed. ‘‘Have you no 
mercy ? ” 

The man scrambled to his feet, his face livid 
with fury, and would have rushed at the preacher 
had not some of his friends caught him. A crowd 
had quickly gathered. The gypsy would have darted 
away, but the hotel was at their back and a semi- 
circle of unfriendly faces, surrounded him and his 
rescuer, so he crept closer to Wayne, repeating over 
and over : “ I no do eet, I no do eet, Meester.” 

Wayne saw at a glance that the crowd was in 
sympathy with the one whom he had upset; those 
who had caught the man as he rose to his feet 
were now being urged by those near by to release 
him, and the preacher caught the words, “ tar and 
feathers,” . . . “ fix ’em both,” . . . “part of 
gang that’ll rob our houses to-night.” Wayne saw 
no friendly faces, and, well knowing that his im- 


94 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

pulsive act of befriending one of the despised gyp- 
sies was likely to cause him serious trouble, he 
slowly edged back toward the hotel. That the 
crowd considered him a vicious character, he had 
no doubt, and, if it attacked him, he wanted to be 
sure that all enemies would be in front. 

Curses and gibes came from the crowd, but it 
had just witnessed an exhibition of the stranger’s 
splendid strength, and, as he stood there, head erect, 
his clenched fists resting on his hips, and scorn 
blazing from his eyes, no one was anxious to be 
first to lay hands on him. Only a moment had 
elapsed, and then from out of the semicircle a big 
stone came flying. Wayne ducked, and the missile 
went crashing through a window of the hotel. A 
chunk of dirt followed, and was better aimed, strik- 
ing Wayne on the shoulder, and bringing a gasp 
from the gypsy and a shout of approval from the 
mob, for such it now was. 

At that moment, a little man with red hair and 
a broad-rimmed straw hat broke through the cor- 
don and sprang to the side of the preacher. In 
his hand he carried a blacksnake whip. It was 
Jap Munson. As he turned to face the crowd, one 
more venturesome than the rest stepped forward 
a few paces and stooped to pick up a stone. Like 
a flash the long leathern lash shot out from Mun- 
son’s hand, and with a cry of pain the man stag- 
gered back, a great blood-red welt showing across 
the back of his hand. 

‘‘ Thanks, Munson,” said Wayne, turning a look 



In his hand he carried a blacksnake whip. — Pa<je 94 









/ » * • ' 

/' ' ' 

. i\ 

f • 

- •« • - 



,> 

. • .' 

% 

: '^ 

A. .* 1 , - 







* * 


•t 



J 


I 


» 


«> 


♦ ■ 




< 


4 





k 



,14 


U * 



4 . 




■ > 


% 


\ 


\ 

r 


% 

t 


.• i 



4 


’- 
t 

'\d 

L. 








IV//£JV CRAIGVILLE AWOKE 95 

of appreciation on the little man, and feeling a gen- 
uine admiration for the skill displayed. 

‘‘ Don’t mention it, Parson, don’t mention it — 
at least until we get out of here.” 

They were now surrounded by the mob, and no 
way of escape was open except through the win- 
dow of the hotel at their back, and they felt that 
this was impracticable. The mob lacked a leader, 
and contented itself with shouting imprecations and 
occasionally showering gravel and dirt on them. 
The man whom Wayne had thrown was now talk- 
ing excitedly with a man in blue clothes who wore 
a marshal’s badge. He pointed frequently to the 
gypsy, who still cowered back of Wayne, but 
the yells and howls were so loud that the words 
could not be heard. Munson stepped forward 
slightly, and held up his left hand for silence, but 
discreetly kept the whip clutched ready for use in 
his right. The howls died to a murmur. 

“ Look here, you fellows,” began Munson. 
“ There’s no call for all this. This hei*e gent is a 
friend of mine, and I calculate to back him up with 
this blacksnake, which pops like a pistol and bites 
like the devil. You hear me; you hear me? It 
bites like the devil ! ” He paused a moment to 
note the effect of his words, and gave the whip 
a flourish by way of emphasis. There was no reply, 
and he continued: 

“That gent there, Jim Gordon (Wayne started 
with surprise at the name), accuses this gypsy of 
stealing his watch. Pie forgets himself and strikes 


96 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

the little cuss a couple of times, and my friend here 
interferes. But, men of Tyler County, he is not 
trying to shield the gypsy. All he wants is a little 
less brutality and more law. (Wayne nodded.) 
Now, then, there’s Bill Ward, as good a marshal 
as ever wore a star (Wayne’s opinion of Munson 
as a shrewd politician rose) ; let him search the 
Dago. Ain’t that fair?” 

“ Sure thing, Jap ; you’re right ! ” 

That’s the proper ticket.” 

These and other shouts arose, and the tide of 
violence was stayed. A crowd is frequently moved 
to violence by trivial things, but, even in its blind 
fury, a few words of reason often cool its blood. 

“ All right. Bill ; come and do your duty,” and 
Jap stuffed his hands in his pockets, having tucked 
his whip under his arm as a token of peace. 

The marshal strode forward, and the crowd 
began to press closer, but Munson coiled his whip 
in his hand and waved them back. 

“ Give the law a clear field and plenty of room, 
gentlemen,” he said, and they obeyed meekly. 
Somehow he seemed to have grown in stature, and,> 
with his red hair bristling, he impressed the 
preacher as being a born leader. 

“ Stand up. Dago,” said the limb of the law, 
laying his hand on the gypsy’s shoulder, and the 
nomad obeyed, still protesting that he “no do eet.” 

Ward proved to be thoroughly proficient in the 
searching business, and Wayne could not help think- 
ing that if the gypsy had a secret in his heart the 


WHEN CRAIGVILLE AWOKE 97 

officer would surely find it, so thorough was his 
inspection. But no watch was to be found. 

“No use talking, boys,’' he said, shaking his 
head, “ there ain’t no watch concealed on this chap.” 

“ Then, sir,” said Wayne, “ I would like to ask 
the gentleman ” (nodding toward Gordon, who 
stood sullenly by) “ if he is quite sure he had his 
watch with him.” 

“ Of course. I’m sure, and it’s gone now.” 

“ Have you examined all of your pockets ? ” 

“ Yes, I have. The watch was in my upper vest 
pocket here, and now it’s — ” (a queer expression 
came over his face as he slapped his side) “ it’s 
gone. But I guess I’ll be going,” and he turned 
hastily, as if to leave, but Wayne interfered. He 
had noted the look of embarrassment and had sus- 
pected its cause. 

“Wait a minute. We are all interested in that 
watch now, and, as strange mistakes sometimes 
happen, I suggest that the marshal assist you in 
examining your clothes. It is a favor I am sure 
he will accord you.” He glanced at Ward, and 
that officer nodded with a sly wink. He clearly 
understood Wayne’s suspicions and evidently sym- 
pathized with them. 

“ Why, sure, Jim, let me help you.” He stepped 
forward, and Gordon, unable to withdraw, sub- 
mitted. The marshal made a few rapid passes and 
then exclaimed: 

“ Well, here’s a lump that feels to me like a 
watch, Jim.” 


98 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

Gordon’s face was red, and his words came 
hesitatingly : “ Well, I would — have sworn I 

searched — every pocket.” 

“ Probably you did, but this is back in the lining. 
Guess the ticker slipped through a hole in your 
pocket. Let’s see. Sure, look at that ! ” He deftly 
turned the pocket inside out and displayed a Hftle 
in its bottom. “ Now for the watch. Ah, there 
you are ! ” The lost timepiece was pushed up 
through the hole and handed to Gordon, who re- 
ceived it without a word. 

The gypsy beamed with joy, and would have em- 
braced Wayne had the latter not declined such a 
proceeding. 

“ I no forget you, Meester,” he said. Then his 
eyes suddenly darkened, and he turned toward Gor- 
don and pointed one gaunt, yellow finger at him 
menacingly, and hissed : “ An’ I no forget you ! ” 

In a moment he plunged into the crowd and was 
gone. Gordon turned his back and walked away, 
and the crowd dispersed also. 

‘‘ Munson, I insist on extending my thanks to 
you. I have sense enough to know that my little 
adventure might have been serious if you hadn’t 
sided with me. A crowd is the most unreasonable 
thing on earth. A bauble that a fool would scoff 
at will sometimes goad a crowd of sane men to 
reckless things.” 

Munson sat down on the deserted bench by the 
hotel and fanned himself with his hat. 

‘‘ You’re about right. Parson,” he said, slowly. 


WHEN CRAIGVILLE AWOKE 99 

as though his mind were on other things. “ But 
you spoiled one of the hottest arguments of the 
summer. I had that Republican right where I 
wanted him. Fd ’a’ made some votes there if you 
hadn’t snatched Jim Gordon.” He stretched out 
his legs, then suddenly leaned back and went into 
a paroxysm of laughter. “ Derned if that wasn’t 
a good toss you give him, though. I caught a 
glimpse of him sailing toward the walk just like 
a frog. Ha! ha! ha! I guess you’re my kind 
of a parson. Let me feel your muscle.” He 
gripped Wayne’s generous biceps and nodded ap- 
proval. 

“ Jap Munson, you old sinner ! ” exclaimed a 
voice, and they saw Joe standing before them. 
“ Thought you were not coming to town ; thought 
you were going to Bundy’s Ford.” 

‘‘ Now, Joe, be easy. I started for the Ford, 
but I got to thinking what bully political argu- 
ments would be scattered around Craigville to-day,, 
and so I just drove over for a bit. But I’m in 
an awful rush, Joe, and am hurrying for my wagon 
right now. Yes, sir, I was just rushing for the 
wagon when I stopped to talk to the Parson a min- 
ute. I’m going now.” He jumped up and strode 
rapidly down the street a short distance, and then 
turned and shouted back : “ Get my mail, will you, 
Joey? Fm in such a rush I haven’t time.” 

His team was tied at the town rack near by. 
Hastily he untied the halter-strap, sprang into the 
wagon, and with many exclamations backed out of 

LOFa 


loo HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


the crowd of vehicles. Then his whip circled and 
cracked, and, with a final wave of his hand, he 
drove away at a sweeping trot, standing up behind 
the seat, and reminding the preacher in a ludicrous 
way of a Roman charioteer. 

“Well, are you ready to go home?’' asked Joe. 

Wayne was silent a moment. He was thinking 
of Jim Gordon and what the reporter had told 
him concerning the young farmer. He knew now 
that Gordon was not worthy the love of such a 
woman, and he was rather surprised to find that 
the discovery gave him a certain kind of pleasure. 
“ But,” he soliloquized, “ what am I going to do 
about it ? ” He glanced down at his clothes, and 
again the realization came to him that they were 
poor and cheap. Clothes do not make the man, 
but they are a powerful lever in the affairs of men. 
Jim Gordon probably had a Sunday suit, he 
thought, and he knew that it was hard for the 
world to see beyond a coat. His own looked more 
shabby than ever. 

“ I want to get some new clothes first,” he re- 
plied. 

Joe looked at him, but did not speak. He ap- 
peared embarrassed, and swung one foot back and 
Jorth under the bench. Wayne understood. 

“ I have a small sum of money,” he said. 

They arose and walked across the street, both 
silent. Joe stepped to a counter and scribbled on 
a piece of paper, and then handed it to Wayne. 


WHEN CRAIGVILLE AWOKE loi 


“ A foot-log over the shoals/' he said, simply. 
It was a check for fifty dollars. 

Wayne felt the lump rise in his throat, and he 
turned hastily away for a moment and wiped some- 
thing warm and moist from his eyes. Then he 
wheeled and his hand sought the hand of his friend 
and held it in a clinging clasp. When he withdrew 
his hand, he left the check in Joe’s palm. 

‘‘ God bless you, Joe. But don’t rob me of my 
independence, just yet. Some day — perhaps.” 

They found Timothy Craig enjoying another 
“ breathing spell ” when they returned to the shop. 
The slip of paper was spread out on his knee again. 

“ Dinged if I have located them treasure-hunters 
yet. Parson,” he called as they came up. 

‘'Neither have I, — but I intend to,” responded 
Wayne. 

They drove homeward in the glory of the even- 
ing. From the summit of a gentle rise Wayne 
looked back and saw the village bathed in the mel- 
low beauty of the fast setting sun. Fields of wav- 
ing corn, breast high, bordered the road, a pano- 
rama of waving green, marked sharply with the 
white stretch of graveled roadway. The way led 
through a narrow strip of woodlands, and a rickety 
rail fence, a decaying memory of the past, zig- 
zagged a border between the timber and the corn. 

“ Whoa!” 

Joe pulled sharply on the lines, and then, noting 
his companion’s look of inquiry, pointed to the rail 
fence. 


102 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


“ It’s a poem to me,” he said ; “ a song of yes- 
terday. The rail fences are fast disappearing, and 
in their passing they are taking my boyhood. In- 
diana boasts of her progress ; I weep at her ruthless 
changes. To me there is more sentiment in one 
mossy rail of that fence than in all the wire that 
was ever strung on posts.” He twitched the lines 
and they drove on. 

A pretty farmhouse shaded by two giant oaks 
was passed. The farmer and his family sat under 
one of the trees enjoying the deliciousness of the 
June-time. The man was playing an accordion, and 
the preacher’s eyes glistened as he caught the 
strains : 

“Way down upon the Suwanee River.” 

Across the fields came the lowing of cattle, and 
they heard the merry shouts of the farm-hands, 
as they came riding in from the fields astride the 
plodding work-horses, with trace-chains jingling. 
When they reached home, they found Lorraine 
waiting to swing open the barn-yard gate for them. 

“ Take the bundles to the house. Bob, and I’ll 
put up the horses,” said Joe, and, with half a pro- 
test, Wayne sprang from the buggy and began 
pulling out the packages. 

And I’ll help Mr. Wayne,” said Lorraine, with 
a laugh. 

They stood on the porch a moment, awaiting a 
call to supper. The sun was resting in the tree- 
tops in the west. She spoke of the glory of the 
sunset, which had thrown a bar of gold at their 


WHEN CRAIGVILLE AWOKE 103 

feet, and referred to the rays as “ Sol’s children,” 
which he seemed to be trying to recall before retir- 
ing for the night. 

‘‘ Then Sol will wait in vain,” was his reply. 
^‘Why?” 

“ Because some of his children have found a more 
glorious retreat. I see the truants hiding in your 
hair.” 

A soft color stole to her cheeks. 

“ Your Southern ancestry again,” she said. 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE SERMON 

T he service had been set for afternoon, in 
order to better accommodate the country 
folk who had a few miles to drive. 

Sunday morning after breakfast Wayne donned 
his new clothes, and, clean shaven, was not dis- 
pleased with the picture the mirror gave him. He 
smiled as he thought of the scorn that once would 
have surged over him at the suggestion that he 
would wear a suit of ready-made clothing. But 
nature had kindly met the tailor half-way, and, as 
a result, his splendid physique appeared to fairly 
good advantage in the suit of plain black. 

Best looking suit I ever saw come out of a 
Craigville store,” whispered Joe, approvingly, as 
they met. 

Wayne began to feel a little nervous. Suppose 
he should make a failure of the service! He had 
always been strong in extemporaneous work, but 
he began to wish that he had prepared and com- 
mitted a sermon. True, it was only an humble 
country church, and the congregation would not 
be overly critical, yet he was anxious to win the 

104 


THE SERMON 


105 


approval of the congregation, he told himself. Yes, 
he told himself this, but he knew that it was un- 
true. What, then, was the cause of his nervousness ? 
He searched his brain, but the answer was not 
there. He probed his heart and found the truth, 
though the probing cost him pain. 

He asked to be permitted to spend the morning 
alone, and his request was voted proper. He 
crossed the meadows where daisies and buttercups 
were bathing in the sunbeams. The breath of the 
clover sweetened the air, but, as he paused to drink 
it in, he brushed against a thistle. “ The Jim Gor- 
don of the meadow,'’ he said, thrusting it aside 
with his foot. He skirted the edge of the woods 
and came to the foot-log over Willow Creek. Then 
a sudden inspiration came to him, and he plunged 
once more into the woods and turned in the direc- 
tion taken by the mysterious men with the pick 
and spade. A brisk walk soon brought him to the 
spot where the horse had been left by the men. 
He could see plainly where the grass had been 
trampled by the horse and crushed by the wheels 
of the buggy. Bending closer, he examined the 
ground carefully, and at last an exclamation of 
satisfaction escaped him. He had found a spot 
where the ground was bare. A recent rain had left 
it moist and the thick branches had kept the sun 
from drying it out. Plainly stamped thereon was 
the print of a horse's hoof, and the dent was clear 
cut except a short space in front, indicating that 
the hoof that had made the print was defective. 


io6 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


'‘Lost anything?’’ 

The voice startled him, and, as he sprang to 
his feet, he saw Jim Gordon leaning over the gate 
and regarding him with a black look. 

“ No, I’ve found something,” he replied. 

" What is it, the trail of a gypsy? ” There was 
a broad sneer in his tone. 

“ Perhaps. I haven’t been quite able to classify 
him yet. It is a trail, and it may have been a gypsy, 
but he was disguised as a Dunkard.” 

Gordon sprang over the gate and walked up to 
Wayne, who stood coolly regarding him without 
changing his attitude. 

“ Look here,” said Gordon, in a snarling tone, 
" 1 hear that you’ve gone to work for Wilson, but 
let me tell you that you are too damned fresh. 
Stick to your plough and don’t try any Sherlock 
Holmes business, and you’ll be happier.” 

" On the contrary, I am quite happy over my 
discoveries. Shall I tell you some of them?” He 
had resolved to put on a bold front and trust to 
luck to make plausible deductions hit somewhere 
near the truth. 

Gordon was naturally a good-looking young man, 
but the hate engendered in the conflict in Craigville 
was being augmented by the tantalizingly cool, in- 
sinuating tones now used by Wayne, and passion 
had drawn a cruel look about his mouth and eyes. 

" I don’t mind ; I have a few minutes to spare,” 
he replied, sarcastically, sitting down on a stump. 

"Well, we’ll have to omit the chills and fever 


THE SERMON 


107 


music of the melodrama, and bring the villain on 
the stage with a rush. Never mind his personal 
description — except that he limps.” Gordon’s 
eyes half-closed as he gazed at the speaker. “ The 
chief villain calls another to his aid, and they plot 
in stage whispers. An electric line is the basis for 
the plot, but an additional plot works in, the last 
one dealing with a fine Indiana farm. Then they 
decide that a local agent is necessary, and they 
induce a young man of the neighborhood to join 

them. The first two villains go on a midnight 
expedition with a buggy, a spade, and a pick. The 
horse and buggy are borrowed from the local con- 
spirator, and the horse has a defective hoof that 
leaves a plain trail that — ” 

“You lie!” Gordon sprang from the stump, 
his body quivering with rage. 

“What do you know about it, Jim Gordon?” 

“ I know that this is an unhealthy neighborhood 
for sneaks like you. I know that unless you are 
out of Tyler County within forty-eight hours, some- 
thing will happen to you.” In his rage he threw 
discretion to the winds and hurled the threats with 
venomous vigor. 

“ So, it is a declaration of war, is it ? So be it, 

then. But listen to the tongue of a prophet : When 
I leave Tyler County for good, a wrong will have 
been righted and other wrongs will have been pre- 
vented. I shall remain here.” 

“ And I suppose you have been filling the ears 
of the Wilsons with your infernal lies?” 


io8 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


I have told them nothing, and I shall not tell 
them — yet.” 

Gordon looked at him sullenly a moment, and 
then turned toward the road. After a few steps, 
he faced about. 

“Forty-eight hours! Remember!” 

Wayne smiled contemptuously. “ Yesterday I 
threw a viper into the dust. This morning I found 
a thistle in my path. I named it Jim Gordon and 
brushed it aside with my foot. When next I find 
that thistle in my path, I shall crush it.” He turned 
and walked back through the woods. 

The little frame church in the walnut grove at 
the crossroads was rapidly filling with people. The 
plain pine benches with a single strip for a back 
had been dusted and arranged with an aisle in the 
centre, and on a slightly raised platform in front 
the pulpit stood, an oblong box on end, with the 
top sawed bias so as to make a tilt for the Bible. 
The farmers and their families sat together, and, 
as they entered, there was much bowing and smil- 
ing across the room to acquaintances. Through 
an open window the butterflies came flitting, and 
occasionally a serious-looking bumblebee darted in 
and buzzed hither and thither, causing many to 
duck their heads. Sturdy farmer boys drove up to 
the church and handed bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked 
sweethearts from their buggies, and left them 
standing chatting with girl friends while they drove 
into the shade of the grove and hitched, sticking 


THE SERMON 


109 


a small leafy branch here and there in the harness 
to act as a shoo-fly,” as it was called in the local 
parlance. 

Wayne arrived late. He felt that to stand idly 
about, while waiting for the hour for service to 
begin, would render him more nervous than he 
already was. He walked across the fields with Joe, 
and was pleased to find the church almost filled 
when he arrived. The Major and Mrs. Wilson 
were waiting for them under a tree at the church 
door, and shook hands with him. They stood silent 
a moment. 

‘‘ I am ready,’’ said Wayne, and the three stepped 
within, leaving Joe standing at the door. 

Mrs. Wilson’s hand rested lightly on the preach- 
er’s arm as they passed down the aisle, and a silent 
prayer arose that he might prove worthy the con- 
fidence the mother had placed in him. In the brief 
steps he renewed his vow to lighten the burdens 
that he felt were resting on the silvered heads beside 
him. 

He had asked that he be given no introduction 
save that which he should give himself. So the 
Major and his wife stopped near the front and took 
a seat, permitting him to pass on to the rostrum 
alone. A hush had fallen. He felt the gaze of 
the assemblage upon him as he took the pulpit 
seat. Then he raised his eyes and was face to face 
with his congregation. He had felt their gaze, but 
their bearing was respectful. He heard a com- 
motion near the door as a late arrival entered, and 


no HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


he saw Timothy Craig enter, leading an elderly 
lady, while close behind him came Joe by the side of 
a pretty dark-haired girl with a rose bloom in her 
cheeks. He rightly guessed that it was the mother 
and Bess. Near the aisle Lorraine sat with Para- 
graph and Susanna, the latter, a slim wisp of a 
girl, stealing shy glances at the trim-built, nattily 
dressed swain at her side, who devoted his time 
to smiling at Wayne and nodding him encourage- 
ment. 

The hour for beginning had arrived. Through 
an open window came the trill of a wren and the 
piping of a robin. He thought of Lorraine’s 
words, “ Your choir is practising.” He arose, and, 
with a fleeting glance toward Lorraine, said that 
Nature had kindly furnished a choir of feathered 
songsters, and that as they had begun their carols 
he felt that the moment had arrived to take up his 
work. They caught the significance, and he saw 
that the odd conceit pleased them. Then he an- 
nounced a hymn, and as he led it with his full bari- 
tone voice he saw the eyes of Mrs. Wilson beam 
with pleasure. 

“ Jesus, lover of my soul, 

Let me to Thy bosom fly.” 

The grand old song was sung with fervor, and 
there was no shortage of bassos. He asked that 
some one in the congregation would offer prayer, 
and a patriarch on a bench back near the door re- 
sponded with a supplication that was clear-cut, with- 


THE SERMON in 

out a whine of hypocrisy or a whimper of strained 
pathos. 

There was a pause, and Wayne stood before 
them, nervously fingering the leaves of a Bible a 
moment, and then he began to speak. He told 
them that he was there a stranger, hoping for 
acquaintanceship and confidence, which he would 
endeavor to merit. He told them that he had left 
the whisper of the Suwanee to harken to the mur- 
mur of the Wabash; he had come among them 
to be one of them, to labor as they labored; if he 
had at any time in the past been a drone, he wished 
the future to afford him opportunity to rectify the 
record. Though fortune had granted him a theo- 
logical diploma, he had no excuses to offer for 
having cast off creed. 

God created you and me equally intelligent, on 
the average. At least, I can find no place in His 
word where He authorizes me to forbid you this 
or that on my own authority; the Book contains 
His commandments. Nor can I find where He says 
that you and I shall band ourselves together and 
in His name formulate laws for the salvation of 
man. Such laws are fallible. I see the towering 
steeple of a magnificent edifice on one corner, and 
in that church a minister, intrenched behind a creed 
adopted by some convention of men, offers salva- 
tion according to the plan adopted by these sages, 
— godly men, no doubt, but men, nevertheless. 
Across on another corner the sun gilds the stained- 
glass windows of another palace of gospel, — gos- 


1 12 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


pel according to the deliberations of a conference 
of learned men, — righteous, clean-lived men, but, 
withal, men. And one declares that a certain thing 
is black and the other declares that it is white, while 
down the street I hear the chiming bell of a church 
whose pastor, by the authority of the fathers of his 
creed, declares that it is of chameleon hue, — either 
white or black, according to the light. Then I turn 
to the Book and I read God's message on the sub- 
ject. If the precise, literal meaning of the text is 
obscure, my opinion on the subject may be of in- 
terest and profit to you, but flesh and blood and 
brain are fallible, and I deny that the opinions of 
man shall be binding when it comes to questions of 
our souls' welfare. ‘ He that hath eyes to see let 
him see, he that hath ears to hear let him hear.' 
The Book is filled with the riches of a glorious 
Christ message, on which all men who acknowledge 
their Savior can agree. If there are obscure pas- 
sages, let us decide them as they appear to us, and 
if questions of the affairs of the world confront 
us and the question arises in our minds, ‘ Is it in 
opposition to God's will ? ' let each of us settle those 
questions according to our conscience. A man may, 
with propriety, declare his belief that the com- 
mission of these acts in question is an offense unto 
the Lord, but no man hath the right to declare it 
to be a fact, for in this twilight of the nineteenth 
century many questions arise in our daily lives that 
the Bible does not treat with directly. Conscience 
alone can guide. God hath not spoken to man 


THE SERMON 


113 


direct since the birth of the creeds. Yet I come 
not among you to battle with the creed of any man. 
If your plan of life harmonizes with your conscience 
and your investigation, cling to it, if it has God 
for its central figure.” 

He chose another hymn, and it was sung with 
a will. Then he announced his text, “ And when 
ye stand praying, forgive,” Mark 11:25. He un- 
pinned a great red rose from his coat lapel and held 
it before him, saying that the flower, one of the fair- 
est of God’s works, fittingly illustrated the plea he 
wished to present. It represented the life of the inno- 
cent with the evil hovering near. Outwardly it was 
fair to look upon; it appealed to the eye with its 
beauty ; it wooed the heart and brain with its God- 
given fragrance ; and yet, when the unwary reached 
out to pluck it, to clasp it to the bosom, a wound 
was made by the thorn concealed just behind the 
inviting beauty of the blushing petal. So it was 
with life, he declared. A pleasure is offered in 
good faith, and the donor goes his way, only to 
find, later, that he has bestowed a thorn. A pleas- 
ure is sought, and in its glorious beauty is clasped 
to the heart, but, while the fragrance of the petal 
is steeping the senses, the terrible sting of the thorn 
pierces the heart, and the deadly thing is flu " 
from the sufferer; but too late, a scar remains. 



He had felt a diffidence at first, and his words had 
come haltingly as he groped his way forward in 
his subject. His thought was clearly outlined in 
his mind, but he felt the presence of his hearers 


114 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

and the glance of a pair of eyes whose depths 
treasured the violet’s blue, and he wondered as he 
stumbled through the sentences if those eyes bore 
reproach, or sorrow, or disappointment at his fail- 
ure. For he felt that he was failing. He dared not 
trust himself to meet that gaze, for, if disappoint- 
ment should be mirrored there, he knew that he 
should become dumb and rush from the pulpit in 
an agony of shame. 

■In a far corner sat a grim, hard-visaged man. 
In the lines of his face harshness was written, and in 
his general demeanor a sneer was flaunted. Wayne 
now resolutely turned toward him. He felt that 
he was already condemned as a dolt in the estima- 
tion of that man, and the feeling brought a cer- 
tain sense of self-possession and aroused his com- 
bativeness. He could meet an enemy and fight skil- 
fully and well, whereas trusting hopefulness un- 
nerved him by its demands. He began to preach 
to the man in the corner. He told a story, eloquent 
in its simplicity, of a girl, radiantly fair and pure 
as the dewdrop on the petal of a rose, whose every 
footstep was in the refulgent beauty of a love and 
praise for God. In graphic words he told of the 
day when Fate had tolled the hour that marked a 
turning-point in her life. The man was handsome, 
he said, and possessed of courtly grace, and the 
story was as old as time. In her heart there 
sounded the swelling music that responded to the 
hand of Youth as it swept the lyre of Hope. The 
rose was so beautiful, so fragrant with joy, that 


THE SERMON 115 

she stretched out her fair, white hands for it and 
clasped it to her bosom. The rose was Love. 
Standing at the altar, she gave her spotless life 
into the hands of the handsome one with courtly 
graces, but she consented to keep the nuptials secret 
for a time, until the man could make certain ar- 
rangements. Then there came an hour when she 
awoke to find that her life of spotless purity had 
been placed in soiled hands, and that the courtly 
graces were practised wiles, deadly as the swaying 
head and glittering eyes of the serpent weaving its 
charm about its victim. Then there was a cry of 
anguish, for the rose she had pressed to her heart 
had dropped its petals, and the great, cruel thorn, 
artfully concealed, had pierced her soul. Sobbing 
and struggling in her agony of mind and soul, she 
flung the once beautiful flower, now a hideous net- 
tle, from her and trampled it into the dust. But 
it was too late; the thorn had triumphed over the 
petal. He pictured her dishonored, fleeing from 
the presence of her acquaintances, desperate, 
broken-hearted, ashamed. And ashamed of what? 
Of that which had seared her life and left her a 
scar. Yet her only wrong was that she had, in the 
radiance of her dreams, pressed to her heart the 
rose. She knew not of the thorn; surely there 
was forgiveness. And the man who had joined 
their hands, the man who had invoked the author- 
ity of God in handing her the rose, what of him? 
The speaker’s head was thrown back, he had 
stepped away from the pulpit, and his arms were 


ii6 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


uplifted, as though imploring the judgment of 
heaven. What of this man who had, in the name 
of God, placed in that woman’s hand the thorn 
that was so grievously to wound? Was there no 
forgiveness for him? 

His manner grew more earnest, his words 
crowded rapidly one after the other; the halt- 
ing hesitancy was gone. He forgot that he was 
a failure, forgot the eyes of blue, forgot the 
hard-visaged man in the corner, and remembered 
only that a just God reigned. He felt the fires 
of a burning eloquence consuming him; he no 
longer groped for language to clothe his thoughts; 
he had ceased to think, but the eloquence spurted 
in fiery geysers from his heart. He pleaded for a 
broader charity, for a spirit that could emulate 
Christ. In a few graphic sentences he drew the 
picture of the Savior on Calvary, how the Son 
of God had, even in that supreme moment of tor- 
ture and agony, forgiven those who drove the nails 
into His flesh and pressed the crown of thorns 
on His brow. Then he told of a penitent who was 
scourged by the memory of sins of the past; how 
an angel in clinging robes of white and with a scep- 
tre of roses had banished the demons, and in a voice 
like the music of heaven’s harp had whispered, 
‘‘ The blood of Jesus cleanseth from all sin ; ” how 
she had pointed the prostrate penitent to the great 
Cross that gleamed white before him, and how the 
penitent had cast himself, sobbing, at its foot, wrap- 



His arms were upeifted, as though imploring the judg 

MENT OF HEAVEN. — Page 116. 




THE SERMON 


117 

ping his arms about the Cross and clinging to it 
as a support for life, a refuge for eternity. 

The next moment he was on his knees, pouring 
out an impassioned prayer that the spirit of for- 
giveness might be instilled into the hearts of men, 
that men should be ready to pluck the thorn from 
the heart of the sufferer. He glorified the justice 
of God and thanked Him for the Cross. A mur- 
mur came to his ears, and he paused; a chorus 
of fervent amens arose, and in a moment he was 
on his feet, steadying himself with his hand on the 
Bible. Then he remembered his hearers, and, wip- 
ing the perspiration from his brow, he looked about 
him. Somehow it seemed as though he had come 
back from an unreal land. Mechanically his eyes 
sought the hard-visaged man in the corner. The 
man still sat there, but the lines of his face were 
softened, and his handkerchief went frequently to 
his eyes. Then Wayne looked for the Major. He 
saw him on his knees, his face buried in his hands, 
while Mrs. Wilson was crying softly, and alternately 
wiping her spectacles and resting her hand on the 
whitened locks of her husband. He stood silent, 
but some one started a hymn: 

« I love to tell the story of unseen things above, 

Of Jesus and His glory, of Jesus and His love.” 

The rose had fallen to the floor. He stooped and 
picked it up and held it hesitatingly a moment. 
Then, for the first time, his gaze stole back to where 
she sat. She was leaning forward, her hands 


II 8 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


clasped in her lap; the brilliancy of diamonds was 
in her eyes, and the flush of a strange delight 
tinged her cheeks. He looked and read the silent, 
unconscious message; he looked and knew that he 
had won, that he had turned failure into success; 
how grand a success he did not yet realize. He 
looked — and then pinned the rose back on his lapel. 
The hymn was ended. A hush followed. 

“ The service is at an end,” he said, simply, and 
turned to take up his hat. Then he found himself 
surrounded by those who vied with each other in 
their congratulations. A hundred hands were 
outstretched to clasp his, as he made his way toward 
the door. 

The churchyard became a place of general as- 
sembly, and neighborhood news was exchanged 
while points of the service were discussed. Jap 
Munson plucked a man off to one side and dangled 
the crime of '73 before his horrified eyes, and 
proved that the township’s salvation lay in the com- 
ing trustee, and he announced that he was the 
coming man, that he was loping along in the lead, 
noting signs of coming woe. He had observed 
the Sabbath by leaving his blacksnake at home, but 
his arm sawed the air with the same flourish used 
in making the figure “ 8 ” with the lash. In a group 
of women, his wife, a tired-looking woman with 
streaks of gray in her hair and a roll of squalling 
infancy in her arms, told the others of some new 
ailment that little Elihu had contracted, and little 


THE SERMON 


119 

Elihu, tugging at her skirts, puckered up his face 
and looked mournful for the ladies. 

Presently Wayne saw Lorraine and went toward 
her, but his teeth clicked sharp together as he 
saw Jim Gordon step up to her. He turned away, 
hoping to escape observation, but she caught sight 
of him and called. There was no escape, and he 
lifted his hat as he approached. 

Congratulations,’' she said, and he murmured 
his thanks. 

“ But how thoughtless of me, forgetting to pre- 
sent you. This is Mr. Gordon, Mr. Wayne.” 

The preacher’s hands crossed themselves behind 
his back, and his acknowledgment was but a slight 
bow. Gordon shifted himself uneasily. 

“ Mr. Gordon and I have met before,” said 
Wayne. 

The people were beginning to leave. The hired 
hand and the daughter of his employer drove away 
together; the servant girl rode with the family, 
and was one of them. It was all delightful to 
Wayne, so much so that he was able to force civil 
words to his lips in carrying on the conversation 
with Gordon in the presence of the girl. 

Joe had deserted him for the blacksmith’s sister, 
and Lorraine laughingly said that Paragraph and 
Susanna had intimated that three was a little too 
many for their buggy, and had been told to drive 
on and she would find another conveyance. 

I would be pleased to set you down at your 


120 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


gate. I have my buggy here.’' Gordon’s tone was 
eager. Wayne felt a desire to kick him. 

‘‘And you, Mr. Wayne?” asked the girl. 

“ Oh, I’ll walk. I like it.” He lifted his hat 
once more and was turning away when she stopped 
him. 

“ I think the walk will be fine. I shall invite 
myself to take that route, also. Mr. Gordon, I’ll 
not ride to-day.” 

The fields looked brighter as they walked home- 
ward together. The Johnny- jump-ups rioted in 
greater profusion than ever. They walked awhile 
in silence. Then she spoke. 

“ It was so grand,” she said, and he understood, 
and thanked God once more for his success. 

They crossed Willow Creek on the foot-log, and 
paused a moment to watch the waters swirling about 
the willows bending low to the water’s bosom. 
They talked of the service and of the social pleas- 
ures at its conclusion. The sun was getting low, 
and a sudden shadow fell. Glancing up, Wayne 
saw that the sky had become overcast with darken- 
ing clouds. One of those June storms for which 
Indiana is noted was rolling up from the southwest. 
A gust of wind moaned through the woods ; it grew 
to a gale, and the tree-tops were tossed wildly by 
the sudden tempest. A half-rotten limb was broken 
off and sent hurtling through space. Wayne saw 
it coming directly toward the girl, and sprang for- 
ward. Throwing out one arm, he received the 
blow on the wrist, as a cry of alarm escaped her. 


THE SERMON 


121 


An excruciating pain shot to his shoulder and his 
face grew white, but he choked back the sound that 
rose to his lips. His arm fell to his side and a 
strange numbness came over it. She said some- 
thing, but the gale stole the words, though he caught 
the anxiety in the tone. He shook his head, and 
they hastened their steps. Thunder had been mut- 
tering and growling in the distance, and now a vivid 
flash of lightning rent the heavy blue-black cloud- 
mass, and a deafening crash of thunder followed 
instantly. Leaves and twigs swirled about them, 
as if in a mad dance to the piping of the rising 
storm. A few rain-drops pattered through the 
swaying trees, steadily increasing. The girl 
touched him on the arm and pointed to a log hut 
near at hand, a hut that was used as a sugar camp 
in the spring when the maple-trees were yielding 
their sap. They ran to the hut, and scarcely had 
they reached it when the storm broke in all its 
fury. There was no door to the hut, and great 
cracks gaped between the logs. The rain came 
down in torrents, and the wind flung it in at the 
doorway and cracks. There was a flash that blinded 
them, and a crash that shook the crazy structure 
that sheltered them, and brought a suppressed 
scream from the girl. Dazed and half-blinded, 
Wayne staggered to the door. Then, as sight re- 
turned, he saw, close by, a tree torn and split by 
the bolt. 

“ Well, it missed us, anyway,” he said, unable 
to frame a sentence more cheerful. 


122 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


The cabin had no floor, save the ground, and 
a great pile of charred chunks lay in the centre 
where the kettles had hung over the fire during 
sugar-making season. A board lay close by, but 
not another thing was in the hut. Little rivulets 
of water were beginning to trickle across the floor, 
so Wayne pulled out a couple of the chunks and 
laid the board across them. 

'‘Not exactly an ark, but we can stand on it 
and keep our feet dry,” he said. 

" But how about your arm ? ” she asked. " Did 
not that limb hurt you? ” 

" I thought it was broken at first, but it seems 
all right now, although a little sore.” 

" You must know that I am grateful, Mr. Wayne. 
That limb would have struck me.” 

He wanted to tell her that she had prepaid the 
debt by choosing to walk with him rather than 
to ride with Jim Gordon, but he felt that it would 
be a presumption. She had evidently chosen to 
walk for the sake of walking, not for the sake of 
walking with him. He picked his way to the door 
and looked out. The flash that had rent the tree 
seemed to have been the supreme effort of the storm, 
which was now dying away in the distance, the 
thunder growling and grumbling farther and far- 
ther to the eastward, and the rain lessening. The 
clouds grew lighter and began to break, but the first 
shadows of evening were falling. The girl knew 
the characteristics of Indiana’s June-time, and said 
fhat the rain would soon cease, 


THE SERMON 


123 


The clouds drifted away, and they picked their 
way homeward. As they left the hut, Wayne saw 
a buggy farther back in the woods, and his hands 
clenched as he recognized it as Jim Gordon’s. The 
girl did not see the buggy, and he hoped that Gor- 
don had not observed them leave the cabin, but he 
felt that it was a vain hope. 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE PROMOTER 


RAIGVILLE’S doze was broken that week 



by the gossip concerning the affair between 


Jim Gordon, the gypsy, and the stranger, 
who was gradually becoming known as “ the Par- 
son.” Gordon had many friends in the village, and 
the hatred for the gypsy bands that preyed on the 
neighborhood at frequent intervals during the warm 
months was so intense that public opinion was not 
very cordial toward the man who had lifted his 
hand in defense of the despised one. 

‘‘ Ain’t no good goin’ to come of backin’ up one 
of them skunks,” was the declaration of Sam Sloan, 
as he whittled another notch in the bench in front 
of the Tyler House, and the remainder of the self- 
constituted jury said he was “ derned right.” In 
fact, two-thirds of Craigville endorsed his views. 

The town marshal. Bill Ward, reminded those 
who denounced Wayne and the gypsy that Gordon’s 
watch had not been stolen, but they dismissed this 
fact with a sniff, as if it were of slight consequence. 
Gypsies were notorious thieves, and if this one 
hadn’t gotten Gordon’s watch, it was simply because 
the watch had slipped down into the lining and could 


THE PROMOTER 


125 


not be reached. He was undoubtedly in that crowd 
for no good, and, if Gordon hadn’t caught him, he 
would have robbed some one else. This was the 
course of reasoning they adopted, and when Sloan 
said he believed he would run for sheriff on a single- 
plank, anti-gypsy platform, they applauded him, and 
the frequenters of the bench predicted that he would 
make a great race. 

Timothy Craig “ locked horns ” with those who 
were denouncing Wayne, but he found that it was 
a strong tide that he was attempting to stem. He 
gave glowing recitals concerning the new Parson’s 
great sermon at Walnut Grove Church, of how the 
man had “ ripped the scales off a lot of creeds and 
let God’s sunshine reach the Bible,” but he realized 
that it was practically unavailing. Where had the 
preacher come from? Timothy admitted that he did 
not know much about it; the Parson had proven 
such a good fellow that he had forgotten to press 
that point. All he knew was that it was from some 
place “ down South.” 

Landlord Hausman, of the Tyler House, listened 
to the wrangles, but said little. Jacob was a diplo- 
mat, if one was ever born, and he knew the value 
of a discreet tongue. So he shook his fat sides at 
the sallies of the bench wits, and harkened with 
grave and reverend demeanor when the bench sages 
spake. Once, when he was pressed into a position 
where a declaration on the subject could not be 
avoided, he very neatly turned his expected avowal 
into a compromise by a statement that he would 


126 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


like to know who was going to pay for the window 
broken by “ the boys ” during the wrangle with 
the Parson and the gypsy. As several of the orators 
felt just a little timid about discussing that point, 
they did not press Jacob further. 

The accommodation from Riverside wheezed up 
to the little station one morning, and Hausman’s 
eyes beamed as he perceived a passenger alighting. 
It was not especially uncommon for passengers to 
drop off at the village, but Hausman could never 
learn to school the joyful light out of his eyes when 
such events occurred, and there was not a farmer 
waiting to whisk the visitor out into the country, 
and thus spoil business for the hostelry with the 
historic name. 

The stranger was well dressed, with dark hair 
and carefully trimmed mustache and Van Dyke 
beard of the same color. His complexion was of 
a tinge that betokened intimate acquaintance with 
climes other than that of the North. A handsome 
man, the world would call him, and so thought 
Mine Host Hausman, as he stepped to his side and 
solicited his patronage, yet his warm opinion chilled 
as he caught a fair look at the eyes that looked at 
him through a pair of gold-rimmed nose-glasses. 
The phlegmatic German was not given to compari- 
sons, but he suddenly remembered that the same 
chill had come to him one day at a circus, when a 
huge python had fixed its glittering orbs on him 
through the glass cage. Yes, the stranger wished 
a hotel. The acknowledgment of his desires was 


THE PROMO TER 1 2 7 

made in a voice that slurred the consonants and 
softened the vowels. The landlord seized the 
stranger’s grip and swung off up the street, but 
in a moment slowed his pace as he detected a slight 
limp in the guest’s walk. 

An hour later Jim Gordon entered the hotel office 
and glanced over the register. “ John Ormand ” 
was assigned to room No. 5, the register said, and 
Gordon, after lounging about until Hausman had 
left the place temporarily, quickly ran up the stairs 
and rapped on the door of room No. 5. 

“ Come,” said a voice from within, and Gordon 
turned the knob and entered. The stranger was 
lying across the bed, but he arose and yawned in- 
dolently as the caller entered. 

“ Devilish late, aren’t you, Gordon ? ” he drawled, 
ignoring his visitor’s proffered hand, and shoving 
a chair toward him with his foot. 

Gordon noticed the slight, and a tinge of red 
came to his cheeks. He hesitated a moment, and 
then took the seat so rudely offered. 

Not very late,” he answered, shortly. ‘‘ Farm 
work can’t be scheduled to the minute like railroad 
trains. I’ve been in town half an hour, though.” 

Then why on earth didn’t you come up ? ” 

‘‘ Wouldn’t do, that’s why. These Hoosiers have 
sharper eyes and keener minds than you might 
think. Besides, I had to do a little boosting with 
the boys. I have become a kind of an issue in 
Craigville circles. It is Jim Gordon versus the 
gypsy and — ” 


128 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


“ Yes, yes, but never mind village affairs. I 
really am not interested in Craigville issues.’^ He 
yawned again, showing a row of very white teeth, 
with a filling of gold glistening here and there. 
Then he added, as though an afterthought had 
come : “ That is, unless the issue is an electric line.’' 

The flush showed in Gordon’s cheeks again, and 
he imitated the other’s drawl as he replied : Well, 
you may become interested in Craigville issues be- 
fore long.” 

Ormand smiled. “Very well; I admire spirit, 
but it isn’t what I am paying for at present. You 
received my letter, of course, else you would not 
be here.” 

“Yes.” 

“And then — you brought what I asked for?” 

“ No.” 

Gordon’s tone was peculiarly methodical and dry, 
and the other tugged at his pointed beard in a way 
that plainly told of his annoyance. 

“And why not?” The query was sharp, but 
Gordon crossed his legs composedly and fanned 
himself with his hat. 

“ Guess it wouldn’t be worth while to tell you,” 
he said, forcing a yawn. 

“Not worth while?” Ormand was staring at 
him in amazement. 

“ Don’t suppose it would — you’re not interested 
in Craigville issues, you know.” 

“ The devil ! ” 

“No — a preacher.” 


THE PROMOTER 


129 


That Gordon was enjoying his companion’s ex- 
asperation was evident, and Ormand’s swarthy 
cheeks flamed. He glowered, and his fingers 
twitched as if it would be to his liking to clasp them 
about the throat of the Hoosier “ mudsill ” before 
him, but his reason told him that he would be but 
a plaything in Gordon’s hands, so he choked back 
his wrath and used a more humble tone. 

“Look here, Gordon, this is all riddle to me; 
won’t you explain ? ” 

Gordon tossed his hat on the floor, uncrossed his 
legs, and leaned forward, with his elbows resting 
on the small centre-table. 

“ I can’t explain it all, for I don’t know the solu- 
tion of the riddle, but I do know that things have 
taken a turn in this neighborhood.” 

“ And who has turned them ? ” 

“ Just as I told you a minute ago, — a preacher.” 

“ Well, what has a country preacher got to do 
with it ? ” Ormand’s tone was impatient again. 

“ That’s what I don’t know exactly, but he 'has 
suddenly sprung up from the Lord knows where, 
and seems to know about all there is to know about 
this business, and has taken the pains to tell me 
that it won’t work.” 

“ Then you have met him ? ” Ormand was again 
twisting his beard. 

Gordon’s hands clenched and he half-raised him- 
self on his elbows a moment, and then slowly settled 
back into his chair. 


130 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

“ Guess you haven’t been about the streets any 
since striking town, have you ? ” 

“ Certainly not ; why ? ” 

“ Because, if you had, you would not have asked 
that question. You would have known that I had 
met him.” There was a mirthl'ess smile on his lips 
as he finished. 

“ Then you mean that this meddling preacher 
bluffed you away from — what I wanted ? ” 

“ I mean that I had too much sense to take 
chances on spoiling the whole game by being caught 
in things I couldn’t very well explain.” 

“ But how the fellow got his information is a 
mystery to me.” 

‘‘ Don’t know myself, but he found the buggy 
tracks and horse tracks in the woods, and as the 
shoe had come off that confounded broken hoof, it 
left a print as plain as writing. In some way he 
learned that the horse was mine. The rest I don’t 
know, but it’s enough to make me know that he’s 
watching me like a hawk. So what could I do ? If 
I had tried to get what you wanted, it’s ten to one 
he would have played the spy, and you know what 
that would have meant. There’s a little bad blood 
between us, anyway.” Whereupon he gave a dis- 
torted account of the row over the gypsy. 

And you know nothing about the fellow ? ” 

^‘Nothing, except that he calls himself a ‘com- 
posite parson,’ works on a farm, and seems pos- 
sessed of a wonderful gift of gab. He’s got the 
church people daffy with his tongue, and they don’t 


THE PROMOTER 


131 

care a picayune about his pedigree, but I believe that 
he claims to hail from ‘ down South,’ wherever that 
may mean.” 

Ormand smiled. “And his name?” 

“ Wayne.” 

“ Hell ! Bob Wayne? ” 

Ormand sprang to his feet and excitedly ap- 
proached Gordon. The latter settled back in his 
chair and stared in wide-eyed astonishment at this 
sudden outburst. 

“ That’s the name. Have you met him ? ” 

“Never mind. What is he doing here?” 

“Just what I said, preaching and working on 
a farm.” 

“Humph! Whose farm?” 

“ Wilson’s.” 

“ Wilson’s ! Well, damn me for a fool ! Wil- 
son’s! That’s the farm where — where — ” 

“ Where we want some right of way for — an 
electric line,” broke in Gordon, with another dry 
grin. “ What of it? The riddle is coming the other 
way now.” 

Ormand began a limping, nervous pacing of the 
room, muttering unintelligible sentences. Then he 
paused before Gordon once more. 

“ Of course you know the Wilson family well,” 
he said. 

“ Fifteen years’ acquaintance,” was the reply. 

“ Did you ever know of a daughter being in the 
South a long time ? ” 

“ Yes, but that is a touchy subject around here. 


132 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

The Major, old as he is, would strangle the man 
who mentioned it, and, as everybody in the com- 
munity is ready to swear by old man Wilson, that 
bit of history isn’t even whispered any more.” 

Ormand pulled a cigar from his pocket and began 
to chew the end of it nervously, without lighting 
it. His face had taken on a peculiar pallid hue, as 
if all the blood had suddenly been withdrawn from 
his cheeks. 

“ Well, such things are better forgotten,” he said, 
after a period of silence. “ I am sure I have no 
desire to rattle any family skeletons. I just wanted 
to see if it was the same family of Wilsons. I 
know something of the story, but I did not connect 
it with this Wilson — it is not an uncommon name, 
you know.” 

But Wayne, what of him? ” 

Again Ormand paced the floor, his limp seeming 
more decided than ever in his nervous tread. 

‘‘ You want to get rid of him? ” he asked, paus- 
ing a moment. 

Do I ? ” There was a world of meaning in his 
tone, surcharged with hatred. A pleased light shone 
in Ormand’s eyes, but he parried an instant and 
asked : 

For your own sake, or for the good of the 
cause ? ” 

“For both reasons, but especially for my own 
sake.” 

“ Then I think we can manage the parson — that 
is, if he’s the Bob Wayne I know, and from your 


THE PROMOTER 


133 


description I don’t think there can be any doubt. 
All there is for you to do is to keep quiet, and keep 
your eyes open and your mouth shut. I’ll attend 
to the matter, and the first thing on the programme 
is for Wayne and me to meet.’^ 

“ You can find him out at the Wilson place.” 

Ormand fumbled in his pocket for a match, and 
lighted his cigar before replying. 

No, I don’t think I’ll go there.” 

The two men sat in earnest conversation until 
the ringing of a hand-bell in front of the hotel an- 
nounced that dinner was ready to be served. Then 
Gordon arose to go. 

“ I can slip out easy enough now,” he said. 

“ All right ; good-by until you hear from me.” 

Ormand limped down to the dining-room and 
found the guests, most of them farmers, deeply en- 
grossed in the discussion of two subjects, politics 
and the gypsy fracas. Indeed, the two topics were 
in the same channel, as Sam Sloan’s candidacy for 
sheriff on an anti-gypsy platform was one of the 
features. 

“ I don’t think Sam likes the new parson, either,” 
remarked one. 

“ Don’t remember any parson Sam ever did like,” 
chimed in Landlord Hausman, who occupied a seat 
at the head of the table, and this remark brought 
a smile to the lips of all who knew Sloan. 

Ormand, of course, took no part in the discus- 
sion, but he kept his ears open and made mental 
notes of the names of people who were declared to 


134 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

be antagonistic to the preacher. He knew now what 
Gordon had meant by saying that he had been do- 
ing “ a little boosting among the boys.” Gordon 
was, in truth, an issue, and it was wise for him to 
strengthen the friendship of ‘‘ the boys,” and to 
weaken their antipathy. One or two at the table 
knew Ormand as the electric-line promoter, al- 
though he had never been at the hotel before, and 
inquired as to the prospects. His replies painted 
the situation rose color, and he declared that in a 
year's time the clang of the trolley gong would 
be heard in Craigville, and that new opportunities 
would be opened to the town and to the rural sec- 
tions of Tyler County. 

“ It’ll be a great thing for the farmers when they 
want to attend political meetings,” said one sharp- 
featured enthusiast, and Ormand nodded approv- 
ingly, and said that it was a good point, whereupon 
the enthusiast announced his intention of getting 
out into the country and working ‘‘ tooth and toe 
nail ” for the subsidy. 

“ It’s right and proper that we should help along 
this great enterprise,” he said, whacking the table 
with the butt of his knife. “I feel sure that the 
people of Tyler County will vote the subsidy; they 
are too intelligent to refuse. I am willing to pay 
my share of the tax, you bet.” 

Hausman began to jerk convulsively. He knew 
that the enthusiast owned nothing in the world 
but a spavined horse and a ramshackle buggy, and 
that the insignificant tax on this property was sadly 


THE PROMOTER 


135 


delinquent. Therefore the enthusiast’s declaration 
that he was willing to pay his share of the tax for 
the subsidy had appealed to his risibles in a power- 
ful manner, for it somehow suggested to his mind 
the story of Artemus Ward, who had declared his 
willingness to sacrifice all of his wife’s relations in 
order to put down the Rebellion. But just as he 
felt himself giving away to the desire to roar with 
laughter, he glanced up to see the eyes of the pro- 
moter regarding him steadily through his nose- 
glasses. The same chill that had come to him at the 
depot platform crept into his veins now, and the 
laugh died unborn. 

The drowsy afternoon dragged slowly along with 
but little to break the quiet of the village life. Oc- 
casionally a wagon rattled by, and at rare intervals 
a game of quoits with horseshoes created a slight 
diversion across the street, but the games were al- 
ways short and languid. Even the bench in front 
of the hotel was unoccupied, and Ormand found 
time heavy on his hands. The accommodation for 
Riverside was not due until evening, so after limp- 
ing up and down the streets awhile he returned to 
the hotel office and stretched himself out in a chair 
to smoke. The languor of the day stole into his 
brain, and he dozed, the cigar falling to the floor. 

A heavy step on the threshold aroused him, and 
he straightened up to find himself staring into the 
eyes of a man who had halted just inside the room, 
a broad-shouldered man wearing overalls and a 


136 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

cheap straw hat. Ormand slowly arose to his 
feet. 

Bob Wayne 

The preacher’s face was pale, and he steadied 
himself with one hand against the door-casing. 

“ Then you escaped the grave? ” he said, at last, 
a little irrelevantly. 

“ Don’t talk nonsense, please.” 

But I read that you were dead — killed in a 
railway wreck.” 

Ormand laughed. “ The newspapers are such 
liars,” he said. 

You know that well, don’t you? ” Wayne had 
withdrawn his hand from the door, and the color 
was surging back to his cheeks. 

Ormand seemed to wince as though the thrust 
had touched him in a tender spot. 

Oh, come, now, we can’t afford to quarrel, I 
reckon. I don’t mind telling you that I arranged 
it so that I would be reported dead, and there are 
those — down yonder, you know — who believe 
me to be under the sod. It was convenient for me, 
and it didn’t cause them any great flow of tears. 
I might add that I thought you — elsewhere.” 

The preacher took a hasty step forward, his 
h^ds clenched, his eyes blazing. 

V ' George Morse , for three years I have made it 
a practi^ to spit upon the ground whenever your 
name came to my lips. Now I have decided on a 
change and shall spare the ground that indignity 
by using your face instead.” As he finished he spat 


THE PROMOTER 137 

squarely in the face of the promoter, and then stood 
with folded arms looking at him in contempt. 

A gasp of rage escaped the promoter, and his 
hand darted toward his hip pocket, but the preacher 
laughed scornfully. 

“ Don’t try dramatics,” he said, “ because you’re 
too much the coward to execute your threats.” 

Ormand’s hand dropped by his side. Then he 
wiped his face with his handkerchief. 

“ I don’t care to kill you,” he answered. ‘‘ There 
are better ways of getting revenge.” 

‘‘ Indeed?” 

“Yes, damn you. I know those who will be glad 
to learn the whereabouts of convict No. 2245.” 

The preacher’s lips tightened into a straight line, 
and Ormand retreated a few steps. 

“ The papers were filled with the account of your 
escape,” continued the promoter, “ but they said 
that you had been traced to Australia.” 

Wayne smiled. “ The papers are such liars,” he 
said, “ for here I am in Indiana.” 

“ But you won’t be here long, let me tell you,” 
snarled the promoter, “ for as soon as you leave 
this room I shall turn you over to the marshal, and 
I’ll warrant he’ll be glad enough to claim the re- 
ward.” 

“ Oh, no, you won’t.” The preacher smiled 
again. 

“ The devil I won’t ! And why not ? ” 

“ Because I always carry a preventive for such 
acts as you threaten.” He reached into his inside 


138 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

pocket and drew forth a paper. Here it is — a 
pardon duly signed by the governor and bearing 
the State seal of Florida.^’ 

“ Then it’s a forgery.” 

‘‘ Wrong again. After I left — there, I was for- 
tunate enough to do a great service to the governor, 
and when I told him my story — all of it — the 
truth — he gave me this. That part you overlooked 
in the papers.” 

‘‘ And your business here ? ” 

‘‘Is to preach and work and forget. Or, rather, 
that was my business. I have changed my plans 
somewhat.” 

“ You mean — what? ” 

“ I mean that God has marvelously led me and 
has shown me a duty, a work that none but myself 
can accomplish. He has put it within my power to 
atone for a seeming wrong and to lift the burden 
from hearts that are breaking in proud silence.” 

“You mean the Wilsons?” 

“ Ah ! So you have been told of their residence 
in this community.” 

“ I have been there.” 

“ So I have learned, but I am pretty sure that 
you did not dream at whose door you stood, and, 
thank God, I know you saw no one but the old 
man.” 

Ormand looked searchingly at the preacher. 
“You don’t mean that — that — ” He stopped. 

“ I only mean that you are not to go to that 
house again,” 


THE PROMOTER 


139 


‘‘ But if I choose to do so ? ’’ 

‘‘ You will not so choose.” Wayne’s tone was 
hard, and the other dropped his gaze. 

“ I can’t say that I care to,” he said. “ But I 
understand that you are fighting my electric line.” 

‘‘ I am fighting nothing that is honest. I don’t 
know about this electric line, but I shall find out.” 

“ Well, all I want of Wilson is to purchase a 
strip of right of way of him. Nothing wrong about 
that, is there ? ” 

'‘Not on the face of it, but I can’t imagine you 
connected with anything honest.” 

"Complimentary to an old friend, aren’t you?” 
Ormand’s nerves had quieted and he had resumed 
the old drawl. 

"Friend? Was Brutus a friend when he sank 
a dagger into Caesar? But here comes the landlord 
and I don’t care to be seen in your company.” 

" So it is to be war, is it ? ” sneered the promoter, 
as Wayne turned toward the door. 

" It is to be justice,” he replied, and passed out. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH 

D rowsy, dreamy June merged into sultry 
July, but nothing occurred to break the 
midsummer quiet in the Wilson neighbor- 
hood. Wayne preached each Sunday at the Walnut 
Grove Church and his congregations were only 
limited by the size of the building, and frequently 
men who had given their seats to women stood in 
the aisles and even crowded about outside the door 
in order to hear. 

His words appealed to the hearts of the people, 
as well as to their intellects, and though hearts and 
brains were undoubtedly made simultaneously by 
the Creator, the former were in active service long 
before the brain began its peculiar, mysterious func- 
tion whereby men are caused to think. The utter- 
ances that were delivered from Walnut Grove pul- 
pit each Sunday were sermons — not lectures. 
The words carried peace to the heart, and comfort 
to the soul, and at the same time were a balm to the 
intellect, for the way of salvation as pointed out by 
this composite parson was so plain that none need 
search for the light with an encyclopedia or a theo- 
140 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH 141 

logical digest in hand, and the prayers that were 
wafted up to God savored not of a book of rhetoric, 
sprinkled with midnight oil. 

He gave to them a new eloquence that was devoid 
of stilts; he preached to them of Christ and Him 
crucified; he stripped the draperies and man-made 
foibles from the Bible and held it up to mankind 
with the glory of God showing forth in beauty. He 
told them of a God of love; he deplored hypocrisy, 
and taught them the doctrine that “ not every man 
who saith, Lord, Lord, shall be saved.” And 
men talked in the fields of the parson who earned 
his daily bread by the toil of his hands, who spoke 
to them with a heart filled with understanding for 
the emotions of men. The commandments of the 
sages who formulated creeds, they scoffed at; the 
commandments of God they revered, and though 
they sometimes failed in their fulfillment, they were 
yet nearer the goal than if their hearts had not been 
opened unto the Word. 

Some there were who attended the services and 
spoke to the preacher concerning the organization 
of a choir, but with a smile he told them that he 
preferred to have his congregation for his choir, as 
he did not care to have any feel that they were 
there to be entertained. He was not opposed to 
choirs, he said, but felt that Walnut Grove Church 
was better with every man, woman, and child in at- 
tendance feeling as though they had a part to per- 
form in the service. His simple arguments carried 
conviction, and on service days the little church 


142 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

at the crossroads rang with the inspiring hymns 
of Zion, sung by the full, free voices of the people 
of the farms, whose spirit crept into the words and 
increased their fervor. 

The Fourth of July was at hand, and Craigville 
business men had determined that the day must 
be fittingly observed. Riverside had flooded the 
country with gaudy posters descriptive of a celebra- 
tion to be held there, so the men of Craigville in- 
dulged in a liberal splattering of red and blue print- 
ing ink, and alongside the Riverside posters were 
bills but little less pretentious announcing in bold 
type that the eagle had builded its nest in the 
beautiful little city of Craigville and would scream 
from earliest dawn until night.” The people of 
that township were loyal to the village, and for a 
week before the Fourth even politics took a minor 
part in the talk of the countryside. Craigville’s 
prospective big time was first in everybody’s mind. 
Jap Munson had declared the whole thing to be a 
farce. 

‘‘ The Declaration of Independence has been 
trampled upon, insulted, and disgraced,” he had said 
to Wayne, ‘‘ and this country’s goin’ to be an em- 
pire in about two shakes of a sheep’s tail if the 
people don’t open their eyes. McKinley don’t mean 
any harm, but Mark Hanna is bound to make him 
an emperor, and McKinley’s just letting old Hanna 
run the thing.” 

Oh, come, Munson, I am sure that your fears 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH 143 

are groundless. The Stars and Stripes will never 
float over any but a free republic.” 

“ Then the Stars and Stripes will be used for 
floor mops, and another flag will be afloat over this 
country. Don’t know as I blame McKinley so 
much, though. It’d be a bully thing to be an em- 
peror. Why, back in ’73 when silver was — ” 

“ Isn’t that a splendid stand of wheat ? ” queried 
the preacher, anxious to escape the ’73 arraignment, 
and waving his hand in a sweeping manner toward 
the field in front of where they sat on a fence. 

“ Nothing better in the county,” responded Jap, 
enthusiastically, and then dropping into his all-is- 
lost tone of voice, he added : “ But it’s all for 
nothing. Parson, all for nothing. In the face of 
what’s bound to come I don’t see how people can 
go whoopin’ around about the ‘ glorious Fourth,’ 
the Declaration of Independence, and all that.” 

The Fourth was ushered in with a blast of heat, 
‘‘ straight from the factory,” as Timothy Craig ex- 
pressed it later in the day. One moment the sun 
crouched behind a wooded knoll, then a cock crew, 
and the fiery ball leaped to its post in the brassy sky 
and with brazen blows began welding the hours 
into a flaming pathway of torture. 

Early in the morning the buggies and farm 
wagons began passing, each containing men, 
women, or children, or all, dressed in their Sunday 
best, and the women with large baskets of lunch 
carefully guarded. The programme in Craigville 
would not commence before ten o’clock, but by ar- 


144 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

riving early the farmers could get their odds and 
ends of business attended to and be care-free when 
the bicycle, wheelbarrow, and sack races began. 
The wheat was drooping, golden-hued, under the 
hot caress of the July sun, and it was high time the 
harvesters were at work, yet but few reaper wheels 
turned that day. On the next, harvest would begin 
in earnest; for the present joyousness must super- 
sede labor. 

Breakfast was scarcely over at the Wilson place 
when they heard a familiar Hello, in there ! ” and 
saw Jap Munson’s wagon containing his family 
standing at the side of the road before the house. 
The old man insisted that they come in and visit 
awhile, and with much protesting Munson tied his 
horse, and then lifted his wife and the flock to the 
ground. Still protesting, he headed the procession 
to seats under the trees. 

“ I’m in an awful rush. Major,” he declared, 
mopping his brow. ‘‘ Got a lot of business to ’tend 
to in Craigville before the band begins to play.” 

“ Why, Jasper,” interposed his wife, “ I’m sure 
I don’t know what you’ve got to do.” 

“ There, Major, listen to that, will you ? That’s 
a woman speaking. It isn’t especially Mrs. Jasper 
Munson, but it’s a woman. Don’t know what I’ve 
got to do? Why, I’ve got to show a lot of people 
the error of their ways. I’m to be the next trustee 
of this township, but I won’t be if I loaf around 
under shade-trees.” 

‘‘ Is Johnny quite well now ? ” asked Lorraine of 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH 145 

Mrs. Munson, as she saw symptoms of free silver 
in Jasper’s speech. 

“ Oh, dear, no. Lorry. Johnny hasn’t been a 
bit well this week. I do believe he’s got rheumatism, 
young as he is. You know I have been afflicted with 
it for years. Only the other day I got perfectly 
helpless with it — didn’t I, Jasper? — and I wouldn’t 
be surprised if I had another spell to-day. And 
now Johnny has it real bad. Johnny, come here,” 
she called to the boy, who was playing leap-frog 
with another of the flock. “ Isn’t your rheumatism 
paining you ? ” she asked, as the boy came bound - 
ing toward her. He stopped short and then, with 
a painful limp, insisted that his legs were as stiff 
as pokers. 

Further discussion of the aches and pains to 
which Mrs. Munson and the boy were heirs was 
cut short by the pop of Jap’s blacksnake whip and 
his stormy declaration that he was in a rush. 

“ Glad to see Walnut Grove Church filled up every 
Sunday, Parson,” he said, forgetting his hurry and 
contentedly chewing at a wheat straw. “ By jing, 
you’re a talker, all right! Never mind; no taffy 
about this; it’s straight goods. Never thought you 
was good-looking until I heard you layin’ it off 
up there on the platform. Dogged if you didn’t 
begin to get better lookin’.” 

“ Jasper ! ” It was his wife’s thin voice raised 
in spiritless chiding. 

“ It’s a fact 1 Say, Parson, if you’d stump the 
township for me, I’d just roll into that trustee’s 


146 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

office; yes, sir, just go to sleep and fall in.” The 
whip cut a circle and cracked near where little 
Johnny was wallowing on the grass. 

“ Get up from there, young man, or you’ll spoil 
them pants, and hard times are cornin’ faster’n 
a horse can trot. But I’m in a rush, folks, and I 
guess we’d better be a-joggin’ along.” 

“ Jasper’s so wrapped up in politics, you know,” 
said his wife, in an apologetic tone, as she arose 
and followed him toward the wagon. Little Johnny 
turned a few flip-flops, and then, suddenly remem- 
bering that he was sorely afflicted, limped dread- 
fully, while his mother called everybody’s attention 
to the fact that he was crippled with rheumatism. 

Things are gettin’ warm, you bet, and if a man 
expects to win in politics he’s got to keep circu- 
latin’,” responded Munson, and then, plucking 
Wayne by the sleeve, he said to him in an aside: 
“ You’re an issue. Parson. Sam Sloan’s cornin’ out 
for sheriff on an anti-gypsy platform, and that muss 
of yours won’t be forgotten until after the cam- 
paign.” 

The preacher gave him a sly kick with his heel, 
and Munson turned to find Lorraine beside him. 
Surprised by her sudden appearance, he fled to the 
wagon and piled his family in helter-skelter. Then, 
with a flourish of his beloved blacksnake, he was 
off. 

Wayne stood under the trees alone with Lorraine, 
for the others had gone to the house when the Mun- 
son family drove away. He caught the flash of a 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH 147 

bluebird’s wing and heard the droning of the bees 
as they circled about in the dancing rays of heat. 
The breath of July was hot and withering to plant 
life, so that patches of brown, singed grass 
sprinkled the extensive yard, but here in the shade 
born of that same sunshine it was cool, the grass 
remained green, and the breeze that staggered from 
the burning expanse into this retreat became tem- 
pered amid the leafy boughs and eddied in refresh- 
ing gusts about the great trees, the hammock, and 
the rustic bench. The preacher was wondering how 
much of Munson’s speech the girl had heard. He 
felt that he had no right to feel as he did toward 
her. Many times since he had found that George 
Morse was among the living he had told himself 
that he must throttle the small, pulsing thing that 
was stealing into his heart, aye, into his very soul, 
if there be a difference. He knew his duty; it was 
not difficult to see. But he had waited, waited as 
he tried to convince himself, “ for a more favorable 
opportunity.” He had plodded the fields and ar- 
gued with himself that though a duty be plain, it 
were right to be discreet. At times he found that 
he was shrinking, and then would come a vision of 
a great white Cross, and at its foot was standing 
one who mutely pointed to the drops of the Sa- 
vior’s blood chastening the Cross. It was no fanci- 
ful picture; he knew that his brain was not unbal- 
anced; he was steady-nerved, cool, and critically 
calculating, and he knew that the Cross was there, 
and that as it had once rested on the spot where 


148 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

the sins of his past lay buried, as it had proven his 
refuge then and had supported him as in his half- 
conscious dreams he clung to it, so it now stood 
before him, his only hope in the darkness of fail- 
ing courage. 

These thoughts had come to him in the fields-; 
in the woodlands, as he tramped restlessly forth; 
in the serene beauty of the night as he lay staring 
at the splash of white which the moon had spilled 
on his coverlid. And now they came surging back 
to his brain, crowding one upon the other like a 
stampede when the cry of fire is raised. Only a 
moment he stood silent; then he bowed with un- 
usual gravity to the girl. 

Let me offer you a seat,” he said, striding to 
the hammock and spreading wide its meshes. She 
followed him, but with a smile declined the ham- 
mock. 

“ I believe I prefer the rustic,” she said, and 
sank into it lightly, gracefully, in a manner that 
oddly reminded Wayne of the time when the but- 
terfly had settled on the rim of his hat. 

Then I must take the hammock,” he re- 
sponded. There was no mirth in his tone; in- 
deed, there was but little emotion of any descrip- 
tion. His voice sounded mechanical, as though 
his heart and brain were wrestling with other 
problems. He did not realize the meaning that 
his words conveyed until he saw her look quickly 
into his face. Then he inwardly berated himself 
for the speech, but he could frame no explanation, 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH 149 

no apology that seemed fitting, so he remained 
silent. 

“Am I dangerous?'’ she asked, a smile dim- 
pling her cheeks. She looked away as she spoke 
and seemed to be intently studying the field of 
yellow grain that lay just beyond the broad high- 
way white and suffocating with dust. He seated 
himself sidewise in the hammock with both hands 
clutching the meshes. His feet, flat on the ground, 
held him immovable. 

“ Yes," he said, simply, “ you are." 

Then her gaze came back from the wheat-field, 
and the blush of the ripened grain was mirrored 
in her cheeks. Her eyes met his squarely for a 
moment. 

“ Why ? " she asked, and though a new bril- 
liancy was in her eyes, her tone was as calm as 
though she were asking one of her pupils a ques- 
tion in mathematics. 

“ Because," was the laconic reply. 

Wayne thought of the time when he had as- 
sured Bruno that he was a fool, and he longed to 
put his arms around the animal's shaggy neck and 
repeat the declaration. He was aroused by a merry 
peal of laughter from Lorraine. 

“ Why, Mr. Wayne, to think that the ‘ compos- 
ite parson ' should make such an admission ! And 
just as I was about to offer my congratulations for 
the latest title you have won." 

He looked at her rather stupidly. “I don't 
think I quite understand; what title?" he asked. 


150 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

‘‘ Why, the ‘ Parson Militant,’ to be sure. Did 
you think I would not hear of the gypsy affair ? ” 

He arose stiffly and stood before her, hat in hand. 
“ I feared you would, but was foolish enough to 
hope not. There are incidents that do not increase 
one’s self-pride. That is one of them.” 

“ You preachers have a queer point of view, — 
queer to me, I mean, — although I had about con- 
vinced myself that you were altogether different. 
And do you know that I was about to applaud you 
for the part you took that day ? ” 

“ I hardly think you are acquainted with all of 
the facts in the case; perhaps you do not know 
who the principals were.” 

“ I think I do. At least, I know that Mr. Gor- 
don was abusive to a gypsy, and that you interfered 
— rather forcibly, I think.” 

“ And in the face of that you offer me your con- 
gratulations ? ” He still stood before her, less 
stiffly, perhaps, but the twirling of his straw hat 
betrayed his nervousness. 

“ Most certainly I do,” she replied, with a sud- 
den glance. I fear that you do not understand 
Indiana girls, Mr. Wayne. I, for one, admire physi- 
cal and moral courage. I am sure that you have 
both.” 

He turned and resumed his seat in the ham- 
mock. 

“ You make me ashamed of myself,” he said, 
slowly. 

‘‘ And why, pray ? ” 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH 151 

“ I can only answer, ‘ Because/ Somehow, my 
tongue is in rebellion to-day, and refuses to frame 
the sentiments of my heart.” 

She leaned forward and picked up a fallen leaf, 
and, as was her habit when absorbed in thought, 
began pulling it to pieces. 

“You must pardon me, Mr. Wayne, but you 
are more of a mystery to me than you were the 
day I first heard your name.” 

“ There are mysteries that are better unsolved,” 
he responded, moodily. 

“ But I cannot help wondering why you should 
come into this community as you have, and work 
as you have. I know you were born for a different 
sphere, that it was not intended that you should 
labor in the fields as — ” 

“ I must weary the body to rest the brain,” he 
interrupted. 

“ I do not understand.” 

“ That you do not is because I am too big a 
coward to tell you ; because I am not morally strong 
enough to do my duty.” He had arisen and was 
striding back and forth under the trees, his face 
pale with the exception of a scarlet spot that burned 
on each temple. She sat silent, and suddenly halt- 
ing before her, he exclaimed : 

“ I have seen the grave give up its dead. I have 
seen a hideous past rise out of the glamour of a rose- 
ate present — I have stood face to face with George 
Morse.” She parted her lips as though to speak, 
but with a gesture he stopped her and continued, 


152 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

almost fiercely : Yes, I saw him, and it was only 
the vision of an angel pointing to a Cross that kept 
my hands from his throat.” 

She sat pale and with her hands clasped in her 
lap, and, as he paused, she asked, in a voice that 
was almost a whisper: 

You know — him? ” 

‘‘ It brings a blush to my cheeks to say ‘ Yes.' 
For three years I spat upon the ground at the 
thought of his name. When we met, I spat in his 
face instead. I knew him when he insulted the 
Suwanee by breathing the air that floated from it; 
I knew him when he enticed a girl to an altar that 
proved for her the guide-post to misery, and it is 
for her sake that I now permit him to go his way. 
I have preached Christ to those who honor me by 
attending my services, yet I have proven unworthy 
because I have hesitated to make open statement 
in this household that that human viper has been 
in the neighborhood.” 

Her face was buried in hen hands and she was 
sobbing softly when he finished, but, looking up, 
she saw the deep lines that his battle had drawn 
on his face, and, brushing aside the tears, she said, 
in tones that evidenced a breaking heart by their 
measured evenness: 

‘‘ Sit down, Mr. Wayne.” 

I cannot — I must not sit ; I have sat too long 
already. I remained here determined to right a 
wrong, and frustrate what I believed to be another 
plot, and yet I hesitated to speak or act. The warn- 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH 153 

ing I have now given you, and it only remains for 
me to — 

“ What? ’’ Her voice quavered as she asked the 
question when he paused. 

“ For me to — go.” He turned and leaned 
against a tree, his gaze once more straying to the 
fields of ripened grain. 

“ But I beg of you not to go. Perhaps I should 
not say it, but, since you have told me of — him, 
I feel that we need you more than ever. Father is 
a stern man, Mr. Wayne, and I believe your influ- 
ence is needed here. It is well that you told me 
first of all that that man is in the neighborhood.” 

“ I felt that it was my duty to tell you first.” 

She looked at him a little curiously a moment, 
checked a speech that rose to her lips, and then, 
after another pause, said: 

“You have no doubt prevented a tragedy.” 

“A tragedy! You don’t mean — ” 

“You have often seen the shotgun hanging in 
the sitting-room. Father comes of New England 
stock that does not forgive, a race that can see 
atonement only in the law of Moses, ‘ An eye for 
an eye,’ and, had he known, he would have shoul- 
dered that gun, and with a prayer on his lips would 
have — oh, I cannot say the word ! ” 

Once more he was striding back and forth, his 
jaws set, his hands clenched until the blood was 
forced back into the wrist veins. 

“ And you ? ” he asked, without ceasing his 
tramp. “ And you — wish him — spared ? ” 


154 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

She sprang to her feet, her eyes flashing, the tears 
gone, and, seizing his arm, stopped him before her. 

“ I wish my father spared,” she exclaimed in 
clear-cut tones. “ He has borne enough without the 
added suffering that would come to him if he should 
— if he should obey the instincts of the only flint 
in his nature. For myself, God forgive me, I could 
smile on George Morse’s dead features ! ” She 
sank back on the settee, and Wayne felt a curious 
thrill of exultation shoot from his heart. 

“ Other refuge have I none, 

Hangs my helpless soul on Thee ; 

Leave, oh, leave me not alone. 

Still support and comfort me.” 

The old man was slowly approaching from the 
house, and was rolling out the grand old hymn 
as though no one were near. 

Lorraine looked quickly at Wayne. “ It is on 
his mind,” she said. ‘‘ When the cross seems 
greater than he can bear, he seeks comfort in that 
hymn. You will remain with us awhile longer, 
and keep silent?” Her voice was eager, pleading, 
and he bowed. 

The old man came up to them, but stood without 
speaking for a full minute. A rose-bush creeping 
up the weather-boarding of the house freighted 
a petal with fragrance, and sent it to them on the 
wings of a passing breeze, and from some unseen 
field the scent of clover came straying. To Wayne 
it seemed that the Major had grown older, his hair 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH 155 

sweeping back from his brow seemed whiter even 
than usual, and his face looked wan. He thought 
of what Lorraine had said, “ It is on his mind,” 
and a great pity welled up in his heart, and he 
longed to stroke the silvered hair and tell him that 
he was understood; that there was one whose arm 
was strong who was ready to help him carry his 
burden and to battle for justice. But he remem- 
bered also that she had said that her father came 
of New England stock who were stern, unforgiv- 
ing, and unyielding. A glance at the strong lines 
of his face and the firm chin and nose told him 
that she was right ; he was not yet ready to forgive, 
though hearts broke. It was not the hardness of 
cruelty; it was the flint of justice, so believed. The 
preacher knew that he would be powerless to bring 
reconciliation now, no matter what showing he 
might make, and, indeed, it might result in the old 
man leading him to the door and pointing him to 
the woodlands from which he had emerged when 
he had so strangely entered into their life. And, 
as he reflected, he realized that the girl was right. 

We need you more than ever,” she had said, but 
he knew that she had meant, “ I need you.” He 
would stay, he told himself, cost what it might. 

The old man turned slowly from his survey of 
apparently the fields, in reality nothing but the 
years long fled. 

‘‘ It is a glorious prospect for harvest, Mr. 
Wayne,” he said. ‘‘We should be in the fields 
now.” 


156 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

“ I am ready/’ responded the preacher, simply. 

“ No — no, not until to-morrow. I am a bit 
old-fashioned, maybe, but I never work on Inde- 
pendence Day. God wondrously blessed our flag; 
I believe that He pleases that we show it reverence.” 

“ In spite of the fact that our country is soon 
to become an empire? ” Wayne asked, in a banter- 
ing manner, trying to lead the other’s thoughts to 
lighter subjects. 

Munson’s a good fellow, but ‘ viewing with 
alarm ’ is meat and drink to him,” responded the 
Major, a smile softening the lines of his face. 

“ And I believe that he takes keen delight in 
figuring on what new complaint will beset his wife 
and Elihu and Johnny,” added Lorraine, flashing 
Wayne a grateful look and striking another blow 
at the gloom that beset her father. 

‘‘ Well, well, she is blessed with good health, 
and if she enjoys being miserable, I am not the 
one to deny her.” The Major was chuckling, and 
then, turning away, he added : “ We’ll all go to 
Craigville this afternoon to see the celebration. 
Time enough after an early dinner.” 

He walked slowly back to the house, and Wayne 
watched him, a world of pity sweeping over him. 
The girl’s eyes were following the bent form, and 
as he rounded the corner, after first stopping to 
pluck a rose and press it to his lips, she turned 
slowly to the man who sat before her, and as the 
sunbeams filtered for a moment through the boughs, 
they glinted on a tear trembling on the heavy lashes. 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH 157 

Once more her hands were clasped in dumb suf- 
fering, and he arose, with a wild, almost irresistible 
longing to clasp her in his arms, to beg her to sob 
out there the woe that he felt was in her heart, 
and it seemed to him that then, with his great, 
strong arms about her, his coward soul could ab- 
sorb the strength of which he was in such sore 
need. But, even as the yearning came to him, he 
saw that it was a weakness. He had no right. The 
Cross stood before him, and the peace of conquered 
self stole into his soul. He took a step away, and 
then turned slowly, and naught but calmness was 
in his voice as he spoke. 

‘‘ I will stay,” he said, and as he strode away 
he caught the sound of a sob. He did not turn, 
but the veins on his forehead became swollen rivers 
of blood, and the fences, the fields, the woodlands, 
danced unsteadily before him, like unto the rays of 
heat that frolicked amongst the grain. 


CHAPTER IX. 


THE MAD DOG 

D inner was served early, and a stranger 
would not have guessed the heavy hearts 
that were at that board, — hearts that were 
at cross purposes, misunderstood and misunder- 
standing. Susanna had scorched the pudding while 
gazing down the road, looking for — none asked 
who. But at last, when the smell of burned victuals 
had recalled her in dismay to the range, her heart 
jumped, for out in the lane, bordered by mulberry 
and hawthorn trees, she heard a light tenor gaily 
singing: 

“ I loved her, but she thought I didn’t mean it.” 

And a minute later the singer had turned his horse 
over to the chore-boy, and was bowing to the group 
in the dining-room. 

“ A noontide health to you, good sirs and ladies 
fair,” he said. “ And to you, especially, beauteous 
one,” he added, turning to Susanna. I can scarce 
control the emotions that tread my nerves as I per- 
ceive that you are either by accident or design — 
and far be it from me to assert the latter or to 
158 


THE MAD DOG 


159 

content myself with the former — standing beneath 
mistletoe, and — ’’ 

“ Oh, I say. Paragraph,” called Joe, “ that’s as 
bad as your ’possum story. That’s not mistletoe; 
that’s plain American dog-fennel that some of the 
Munson kids stuck up there.” 

“ It matters not, Joe, it matters not. ‘ A rose 
by any other name would smell as sweet,’ and dog- 
fennel is just as potent as the purest mistletoe that 
ever graced the banquet-halls of merrie England.” 

“ Well, never mind the mistletoe, or dog-fennel, 
either. I saw your name written in the dinner-pot 
half an hour ago, so be seated,” and Joe arose and 
led him to a seat. 

“ Ah, my thoughtless friend, but know you not 
that, when the heart is starving, flesh-pots have 
no temptations? Methought ’twas mistletoe that 
hung above the door, but you declare that ’tis dog- 
fennel, and I wish to assert my Americanism on this 
glorious day by stating that the dog-fennel, fresh 
from the fragrant meadows where honey-bees 
dream — ” 

‘‘ Until some barefoot boy steps on them and 
wakes them up,” broke in the preacher, thereby 
causing a look of unutterable woe to overspread 
the reporter’s face. 

Parson, I didn’t think it of you ; you who 
have inhaled the fragrant poesy of the cypress-trees 
and the entrancing melody of the mocking-bird. 
But, as I was saying — please pass the bread; no 
one can make such bread as Mrs. Wilson; an epi- 


i6o HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

cure idling among the chefs of Paris would be en- 
raptured with it — the dog-fennel that nodded on 
Bunker Hill, that yellowed the plains of Yorktown, 
that has smarted the eyes of every American youth 
from George Washington down to little Elihu Mun- 
son, should supersede the aristocratic mistletoe, and 
the Viking spirit within me, whispering down from 
generations long sleeping, bids me make declaration 
that henceforth the dog-fennel shall proclaim for- 
feit, e’en as the mistletoe granted blessed privilege 
in the days of Lochinvar.” 

“ Mother, you must avoid that doorway and 
crawl through the window,” said Joe, solemnly. 

‘‘ Joseph, you should not mock William. I am 
sure that his patriotism is a splendid thing, and 
his speech is inspired by an undying love of coun- 
try and — ” 

“ Susanna,” added Joe, and a general laugh 
arose, which, fortunately, the blithe farm lass did 
not hear, as she had fled to the dairy. 

“ And how is the Swri? ” asked the old man, as 
the meal progressed. 

Paragraph hesitated a moment and glanced out 
of the window. “Well, I suppose the Sun is all 
right,” he said, more soberly. “ The fact is, I am 
not one of the 6'wn-beams now.” 

He felt the battery of curious eyes, and twisted 
uneasily in his chair. ■ “ I know you’re all surprised 
and a little curious, though you are above express- 
ing it. I don’t like to speak of such things before 


THE MAD DOG i6i 

the Parson. He sort of makes me ashamed of 
myself.” 

“ Mr. Miller, you must remember that I am a 
man first of all, and I have made mistakes, doubt- 
less more than you have — and graver.” 

‘‘ But you never threw a man out of a door ! ” 
blurted out Paragraph, his cheeks reddening. 

“ No,” said Lorraine, quietly, “ Mr. Wayne sim- 
ply threw his man across a sidewalk.” The 
preacher would have sworn that he caught a gleam 
of something very near to admiration in her eyes 
and a faint triumphant ring to her tone. He flushed 
rather guiltily, but felt a curious little pang of re- 
gret that he had not flung Gordon still farther. 

“ Your confidences are your own, William,” ad- 
monished the Major, gently. 

But I want to tell it. I couldn't resist doing 
as I did. He came into the office and began offer- 
ing money for the Sunfs support of an electric-line 
subsidy. The blood got into my head somehow, 
and when I cooled down I saw the fellow lying 
in a heap out in the hall. They said I threw him 
there. I felt sorry, because, when he walked away, 
he limped. That ended my career with the Sun/' 

Wayne raised his head, and then, as if challeng- 
ing his hearers to dispute his words, he said : ‘‘ And 
I think the world needs more William Millers, men 
who are ready to cast contamination from the edi- 
torial rooms.” 

’ ‘‘ Limped, did he ? Maybe he was the same fel- 
low who came here." It was the old man who 


1 62 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

spoke, and Wayne, raising a glass of water to his 
lips, glanced at Lorraine, but was astonished to 
note that the reference to the limp had made no 
apparent impression. He wondered if recent events 
had so affected her that she was dulled to further 
prodding on this subject. Could it be possible that 
this girl, with the pink glow of health in her cheeks, 
was of the flint of the bluff hillsides of the New 
England State from which her ancestry had 
sprung ? 

“ I am sorry, William, that you have resorted to 
violence, but, when I ask myself, ^ What would you 
have your boy do in the face of such an insult ? ’ 
I cannot say that his chastisement was undeserved.” 
It was the quiet, sweet tones of the mother’s voice, 
and Wayne felt an impulse to take her in his arms 
and ask her to teach him, for in her tone there was 
naught but belief that the tempter had been smitten ; 
she did not view it as a brawl. To him there came 
the memory of another, a sweet-faced woman whom 
he had called by the sacred name of mother. Out 
of the mists beyond the grave she came to him, 
and in his ears there were the remembered tones 
of her voice as she sang to him the lullabies that 
the Southland knew. He felt that he should like 
to cry out to her now, as she seemed so near, and 
implore her to guide him as she had supported his 
tottering baby steps. 

He was conscious that Paragraph was stumbling 
over a reply to the mother’s words, and that Joe and 
the Major were declaring that Miller had done the 



“I FEARED YOU WOULD — WOULD DLSAPPROVE,” HE SAID. 

PtKje 163. 




THE MAD DOG 163 

only thing possible for a man of honor to do under 
the circumstances, and then he heard Lorraine, in 
a laughing manner, say that Paragraph should be- 
come a member of the church militant at Walnut 
Grove. He racked his brain for words with which 
to form a reply, but his vocabulary was a mass of 
wreckage, engulfed in one burning thought : “ She 
knows that I crushed Jim Gordon — and she ap- 
proves ! ” He feared to place a speech on his 
tongue, lest his furiously beating heart should top- 
ple it over and cause him to shout aloud that one 
glorious song: “She knows — and approves!” 
“ She knows — and approves ! ” 

The remainder of the meal was a confused jum- 
ble, composed of bright sallies by Paragraph, bits 
of sound advice from the Major, prayerful utter- 
ances from Mrs. Wilson, and an angel’s wand that 
floated about, gilding the old-fashioned dining-room 
with dimples of sunshine and interspersing it all 
with merry laughter that hushed the wild birds and 
put the glow of old wine into the preacher’s veins. 
Then he found himself following the others into 
the sitting-room, and for a moment he stood beside 
Lorraine, and, yielding to an impulse, he clapped his 
hands and laughed in sudden abandon. 

“You are happy,” she said, looking at him curi- 
ously. 

“ I feared you would — would disapprove,” he 
said, irrelevantly, and then walked out into the 
yard to join the men, leaving her standing there 
alone. 


1 64 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

When the party reached town, they found Craig- 
ville in a flurry of excitement. Bunting hung in 
lavish display everywhere, and, because there were 
not enough stores and residences to suit the ideas 
of the committee on decoration in regard to the 
eternal fitness of things in a decorative way, they 
had wrapped the shade-trees and hitching-posts 
with the bunting, until the town was a monster 
chameleon, changing hues, red, white, or blue, as 
the blazing sun attacked the decorations from divers 
points of view. The village’s supply of flags was 
small, but garrets had been ransacked, and every 
ensign was flung to the breeze either from house 
windows or by having the staffs sunk into the 
ground in the front yard. 

Here and there darted bicyclists, their wheels 
revolving discs of Columbia’s proud colors, and 
rosy-cheeked girls from the farms tripped by with 
tiny flags bedecking their hair. The members of 
the Craigville Cornet Band were conspicuous in the 
passing throng by their gaily colored uniforms, and 
occasionally one was seen with a horn tucked under 
his arm, and all had fair sweethearts by their sides. 
On the occasion of a village celebration of any 
event, the members of the band are always the 
observed of all observers. 

Over in the “ Commons,” as a broad expanse 
of unoccupied territory was known, a bower had 
been erected for the afternoon exercises. Posts 
and stringers and crosspieces were thickly inter- 
laced with green, leafy boughs brought in from 


THE MAD DOG 


165 

near-by woods by the committee on speaker’s stand. 
In this cool, leafy retreat rough benches had been 
placed for those who should be so fortunate as to 
secure a seat on them. These seats were limited, 
and the balance of the patriotic ones had the priv- 
ilege of standing out in the sun. 

Soon after noon the crowd surged toward this 
bower, and in a short time those who stood around 
on the outside were the only fortunate ones. They 
had the pleasure of moving about, while the patri- 
otic mass of humanity on the benches gasped for 
the breezes that staggered about beneath the boughs. 
Fans waved frantically, men soaked their handker- 
chiefs in perspiration from their brows, and from 
all quarters came the distressing wail of babies pro- 
testing against this sacrifice to the cause of freedom. 

The party from Wilson’s rested a few min- 
utes at the Craig home, and then, reinforced by 
the addition of Miss Bess to the crowd, they went 
over to hear the speaking, but generously (or un- 
generously, probably) declined to take a seat on 
the benches. When the hour for the beginning of 
the exercises arrived, there was a murmur of aston- 
ishment from the party as Jap Munson stepped to 
the front of the stage and assumed the duties of 
master of ceremonies. First came a “ tune by the 
band,” as Jap announced it, and then a long invo- 
cation by a local preacher. After this Munson 
faced the crowd, and Wayne imagined he saw his 
right hand twitching as though he were longing 
to grasp the pliable handle of his beloved black- 


i66 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


snake. With it in his hand he would have been 
a conqueror addressing his subjects; without it, 
he was a Samson with his locks shorn. 

He told the crowd how proud he was to stand 
before them on that auspicious occasion. Many 
anniversaries of the day had galloped into history, 
he said, but the present Fourth was heavily 
freighted with dangers and possibilities. “ You 
hear me — you hear me I” he shouted, and the 
prominent men who sat on the platform began to 
look askance at each other. “ This great republic 
is tottering on the brink of national disaster, ready 
to topple into the abyss, or to be drawn back to 
safety by the sturdy hands of freemen.” He 
paused and took a drink of water, and one of the 
prominent citizens crossed the platform to whisper 
in a dubious way to another. Wayne was ready 
to shout with laughter as he saw how Jap had 
played the committee into his hands so that he 
could shake his political mania in the faces of his 
auditors. “ But, gentlemen,” continued Munson, 
“ though the terrible Crime of '73 is staining our 
land, the question that perches on our own thresh- 
olds is that of the selection of a township trustee. 
I falter in bringing this question before you, for 
my own name has been heralded throughout Wil- 
low township as a candidate for that most important 
office, but when the shadow of the poorhouse is 
lengthening about us, I must cast aside my native 
modesty and speak, even as Jesus of Nazareth spoke 
to the sons of men, warning them of dire days to 


THE MAD DOG 167 

come, and warning them that the way of salvation 
was through Him. In ’73 — ” 

The terrible revelation pertaining to ’73 was not 
born, and neither did Jap have opportunity to make 
clear whether or not he intended to place himself 
beside the figure of the Christ, for the chairman 
of the committee on arrangements bent forward 
and interrupted him with a hoarse whisper that 
bore the tone of a command, and Jap, after choking 
and spluttering a moment, suddenly turned toward 
a man who sat close behind him, and, taking him 
by the hand, led him to the front of the stage and 
introduced him as the orator of the day. 

In the crush and elbowing about the edge of the 
bower, Wayne became separated from his party, 
and now, as the orator began tracing the marvelous 
history of the country from the time Columbus 
landed until the present, he began working his way 
out of the throng. He wandered up the street, 
seeking a quiet place. His thoughts were rioting, 
and the presence of the crowd irritated him. An 
empty soap-box in the shade of a tree looked invit- 
ing, and he sat down. No one paid any attention 
to him, for nowhere is a man so much alone as is 
a stranger in the midst of a crowd of merrymakers. 
“ She knows — and approves ! ’’ The sentence kept 
whirling through his brain in a curious manner, 
and he wondered for a moment if he were quite 
sane. If not, he declared to himself that insanity 
was the most blissful state imaginable, for his 
nerves were tingling and his pulse seemed dancing 


1 68 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


to the music of his heart. He yielded his brain to 
his heart for a moment, and confessed to himself 
that he loved Lorraine Wilson. But, even as the 
acknowledgment came, a wee voice piped to him 
that he was sinning. She belonged to another! 
God knew it and he knew it, but did even she know 
it? He had nerved himself to right a wrong, but 
when righting it meant death to his heart, did he 
dare do it? With a prayer for forgiveness, she had 
declared that she could smile on the dead features 
of the man whom he alone, perhaps of all the 
world, knew was her lawful husband. What right 
had he to love her? Did not his Bible teach him 
that it was sin ? But the flood swept from his heart 
like Niagara’s torrent, and paused not for the com- 
mandments of God or the conventions of men. 
Sin it was, but, though it was of scarlet, he was 
powerless in its sweep. Believing George Morse 
dead, his plans were clear, but, with Morse, her 
husband, living, he was torn by a tempest of con- 
flicting emotions. He clenched his jaws in the old 
way that betokened resolve, and told himself that 
he would follow Duty. But of what did his duty 
consist ? Declarations at once, unsupported by 
proof, or a biding of the time when he could stand 
with the proofs and with God’s strength dash his 
own hopes to earth, and perhaps bring further mis- 
fortune to her? He was trembling violently, and 
turned to the Cross for direction, but about the 
Cross a mist was encircling and he was left groping 
helplessly. He looked into his heart and saw that 


THE MAD DOG 


169 

Self was separating him from Calvary's altar. A 
low moan of agony arose to his lips, but it was 
stilled by a sudden wild clamor and shouting. 

‘‘Mad dog!" “Mad dog!" 

He was aroused from his self-communings, and 
heard the rush of a crowd stampeded. The fear- 
crazed throng was parted, and rushed by him in an 
insane desire to find safety. 

“Mad dog!" “Mad dog!" 

No one who has not heard the appalling shout 
can appreciate how frantic people, otherwise brave, 
become in their efforts to escape. The chill that 
goes to the heart when one finds himself confronted 
by a deadly cobra is less terrorizing than that chill 
which strikes to the nerves of those who hear the 
shout of “ Mad dog ! " And the greater the crowd 
the greater the terror, for the danger remains un- 
seen, hidden by a human mask, until death in awful 
form is at one’s side. 

Wayne had heard that cry before, but, standing 
beside the tree, he paused to look for the danger. 
In that instant’s pause the street was cleared. 

Down the street came the dog, a great muscular 
hound, with that peculiar swinging, rolling gallop 
common to an animal with the hydrophobia. Its 
head was slightly lowered, its distended jaws 
dripped bloody foam, while its bloodshot eyes 
blazed with the awful demon of rabies. 

He was turning to seek safety, when a flood of 
sickening horror swept over him, for out from the 
sidewalk where it had been lost in the stampede 


170 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

toddled a girl of about five years. Clapping its 
hands with delight at the sight of the dog, the child 
ran out into the street directly in its path. With 
a shuddering gasp, the preacher saw that the child 
was doomed, for there was no help, no help un- 
less — He caught his breath sharply, and then 
sprang forward as a woman’s agonizing scream 
sounded behind him, the cry of the mother. The 
distance was short and he threw himself between 
the animal and the child, just as the great brute 
gathered its muscles and sprang. With a quick 
movement he evaded the trap-like snap of the poi- 
son-dripping jaws, and then his hands closed like 
bands of steel about the tawny throat. The dog’s 
hot, nauseating breath was in his nostrils, and the 
foam bespattered his sleeves as the beast writhed 
and struggled for the mastery. Tighter and tighter 
he gripped the hairy throat, holding the animal at 
arm’s length in order to rob it of the advantage of 
having a foothold in the battle. He heard a con- 
fused babel of sounds behind him, and then a blaze 
of fire scorched his cheek, a sharp report rang out, 
and, as the dog’s struggles ceased, he summoned 
all of his strength and flung the bleeding body from 
him. He turned and reeled into the arms of Bill 
Ward, the marshal, who held a revolver, still smok- 
ing, in his hand. 

“ It was a devilish stiff risk to try that shot, but 
it was that or — ” 

To Wayne the rest of the sentence trailed off 
into a meaningless jumble that faded into silence 


THE MAD DOG 


171 

as a darkness came, and he fainted. When he again 
opened his eyes, it was to find Joe and Bess Craig 
bending over him, the former half-supporting him, 
and the latter wielding a fan vigorously. Without 
speaking, Wayne twisted his head to one side and 
looked about him in a puzzled manner. He found 
that he was lying on a quilt on the floor of the 
Tyler House office, and then he saw a fringe of 
heads at the door and windows, and heard Haus- 
man storming at the crowd to “ keep away and 
give him all the air there is.” 

“ Guess I must have done something foolish,” 
said the preacher, looking at Joe, and having ref- 
erence to his faint. 

“You did something that but few men in Craig- 
ville to-day would have done,” responded Joe, re- 
ferring to the dog incident. 

“ And those people out there are ready to carry 
you on their shoulders if you give them an oppor- 
tunity,” added Bess, smiling. 

“ Then I’ll not give them the opportunity,” said 
Wayne, raising himself to a sitting posture. “ I 
feel a little weak, but I don’t want any of that kind 
of riding. But I am not quite clear as to the finish 
of — of the trouble with the dog. I think I heard 
a shot and felt the dog dying in my hands, and I 
think I saw the little girl in some woman’s arms. 
But it’s all mixed up.” 

“ Bill Ward fired the shot, and he’d be here now 
if his wife hadn’t collapsed as soon as she got their 
girl in her arms.” 


172 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

The preacher struggled to his feet in a weak 
manner, but was glad enough to accept the proffer 
of a chair. Outside there was a murmur of sat- 
isfaction that became audible to him, and he nodded 
and waved his hand in recognition. 

So it was Bill Ward’s girl, was it? ” he asked, 
trying to force his mental machinery to run con- 
nectedly. 

For answer there was a commotion at the door, 
and the marshal shoved his way into the room and 
stopped before Wayne. 

“ Parson,” he said, huskily, if my wife hadn’t 
collapsed, I’d ’a’ been here sooner to tell you — ” 
He paused and brushed one hand across his eyes, 
and then suddenly seized both of Wayne’s hands 
in his, and continued : “To tell you that I know 
now that there’s a God in heaven.” 


CHAPTER X. 


BLEACHED WITH DOG MEAT 

W AYNE never could clearly recall the in- 
cidents of the ride home that evening. 
Memory had been so soaked with deliri- 
ous joy that it refused to retain impressions dis- 
tinctly, and when he turned back to that page, it 
was to find only a confused recollection of bubbling 
happiness, with dark clouds fringing the edges of 
the page. He recalled how the Major and Lor- 
raine had come pushing their way into the hotel, 
with but few words on their lips, but with eloquence 
in their eyes. He remembered that Joe had hugged 
him, and that Paragraph had mounted the bench 
close by the hotel and made a speech filled with 
panegyrics, and that the crowd had shouted ap- 
proval. Then had come the mother, with quiet 
dignity congratulating him on his rescue of the 
girl, and giving unobtrusive praise to God for His 
protection in those awful moments. These things 
he remembered as he remembered Bill Ward stand- 
ing by with honest tears wetting his tanned cheeks 
as he murmured fervent amens to the words of 
Mrs. Wilson. But the ride home was a chaos in 
173 


174 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

his mind, with bits of driftwood clinging here and 
there to memory. He had sat beside her, he knew 
that. And he remembered that once, in turning to 
look over her shoulder, she had accidentally let 
one dainty hand rest for a moment on his. It was 
only for an instant, as though a pink and white 
rose-petal had been laid by a breeze upon a clod, 
only to be wafted away in an instant, but leaving 
the clod pulsing with life. The thrill that shot 
through him in that brief moment had burned its 
impress on memory, and he recalled that in that 
fleet span of time he had caught himself regretting 
that it had not been the throat of George Morse 
his fingers had clutched. 

The days that followed were welcome ones to 
him. Under the blazing sun he followed the reaper, 
piling the bundles of grain into yellow shocks, 
monuments of God’s generosity in a wilderness of 
stubble. He had said that he wished to weary the 
body to rest the brain, but the surcease was not 
complete. He had dropped into this peaceful com- 
munity by accident, on an impulse to escape from 
the desert of his past, and, behold! his past had 
suddenly transported itself to him, to mock him, 
to scourge him, and then love had placed bloom in 
the desert, but this love had branded him as an in- 
grate and a coward. Day by day the haunting 
spectres of the past, the withered hopes for the 
future, and the uncertainties of the present were at 
his side, and, when he lay down at night, they, in- 
stead of sleep, came to his pillow. If he should 


BLEACHED WITH DOG MEAT 175 

speak, and the Major should drive him from the 
place, as he felt that he would, he would be defeat- 
ing his duty toward her, for had she not begged 
him to stay? But out of the turmoil there came 
a resolution that when next he met George Morse 
there must be a reckoning. 

Jim Gordon had kept his distance since that 
Sunday morning in the woods, and Wayne won- 
dered if he had abandoned his game, or if he was 
planning some new villainy. Indeed, he was not 
certain that there had been any villainy planned at 
all, but he felt certain that the midnight expedition 
of the men with pick and spade was a part of 
some underhand game and that Gordon was con- 
nected with it. The men were driving Gordon’s 
horse, and his rage that Sunday morning left no 
doubt of his connection with the plot, whatever 
it was. The preacher had been so absorbed with 
the entanglements into which he had been drawn 
in the last few weeks that he had found no time 
to probe the mystery, and, it must be confessed, it 
had received but scant consideration in his mind. 
The electric railway question had also dimmed for 
the time being, the farmers being interested, first, 
in the big Fourth of July celebration at Craigville, 
in which each felt a personal interest, and then in 
the harvest, which claimed all of their attention 
as soon as they had finished paying homage to 
patriotism. Now that harvest was near its close, 
the question flamed up once more, and as the board 
of county commissioners had ordered a special 


176 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

election to determine the question of a subsidy for 
the company, it soon became the principal topic of 
conversation, and even Jap Munson let the crime 
of ’73 lie quietly at rest for the time being while 
he hustled around over the township fighting the 
subsidy. When he found that Wayne was also 
opposed to the subsidy he was supremely happy and 
wore out a new whip-cracker in emphasizing his 
pleasure. 

Meetings were held at the schoolhouses through- 
out the township and the question was debated 
with increasing fervor, and Jap managed to remind 
the voters pretty frequently that he was a candidate 
for trustee. It was while Munson, Joe, and Wayne 
were returning from one of these meetings that the 
preacher was given a reminder of his original plan 
of investigating the pick and spade expedition of 
the two men the first night he spent under Wilson’s 
roof. 

The night was pleasant and the harvest moon 
at its full was lighting the world gloriously. The 
men were walking home across the fields and woods 
and were passing along a rough, flinty strip of the 
Wilson farm far removed from the house, when 
Joe suddenly stopped. 

“ Hello ! ” he exclaimed. “ Look here, will 
you ? ” As he spoke he kicked some loose dirt lying 
near. ‘‘ Some one’s been digging around here,” 
he added. 

“ Digging for what? ” asked Munson. 

That’s what puzzles me. This hillside won’t 


BLEACHED WITH DOG MEAT 177 

grow a root of any kind, and no animal would ever 
attempt to burrow into it.” 

“ Maybe some one has sailed up Willow Creek 
and has been searching for pirate treasure,” sug- 
gested Munson, who was in a facetious mood. 

They discussed the discovery a few moments, 
but as there was no explanation to be found they 
walked on. Scarcely were they out of sight, how- 
ever, when a man arose from behind a log close 
by and stepped out into the moonlight. It was 
Jim Gk)rdon, and he carried a pick and a spade. 

“ Damn it ! ” he muttered, staring after the trio, 
“ If they'd only been half an hour later Td ’a’ had 
that dirt tramped down and rocks scattered over 
it.” 

Going back to the log, he picked up a sack lying 
in the shadow, and slinging it together with his 
pick and spade over his shoulders, he walked 
briskly away, the heavy burdens seeming but toys 
in his hands. 

“ I suppose that preacher will get nosy now,” 
he said to himself, ‘‘ but it can’t be helped. It won’t 
do to pile rocks over that place after they’ve 
found it. The thing for me to do is to get this 
stuff to Ormand right away.” 

Gordon proved a good guesser, for Wayne had 
begun to remember things, and as he pondered 
over the subject on the way home it suddenly oc- 
curred to him that the men he had seen that night 
were coming from the direction of that rocky hill- 
side. 


178 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

Long after he had gone to bed he lay turning 
the problem over and over in his mind. But it 
seemed impossible to get any tangible theory out 
of the chaotic mass that whirled through his mind. 
Of two things he felt certain. One was that 
George Morse was the chief in whatever was being 
done on that bleak hillside, and the other was that 
Jim Gordon was assisting him in some way. He 
determined to inspect that hillside on the following 
day, and having reached this decision, he fell asleep. 
But on the following day he was unable to find the 
opportunity he desired. The routine work of the 
farm kept him busy until noon, and then at dinner 
the old man asked him to drive in to Craigville 
and have certain work done at the blacksmith shop. 
Joe immediately said he would accompany him, 
so Wayne was forced to postpone his investiga- 
tions. 

A recent rain had made the road hard, smooth, 
and dustless, and had freshened the foliage until it 
gave off a faint fragrance that was like a tonic, and 
as they drove past the well-kept farms, the stubble 
showing the generosity of Nature in one respect 
and the fields of tall corn speaking of her gracious- 
ness in another, Wayne declared that the garden 
of Eden must have been located somewhere along 
the Wabash, to which Joe smilingly responded that 
he hoped he would not be driven from it. 

But I fear that even now a serpent is creeping 
into this paradise,” said Wayne, thinking of the 
promoter. 


BLEACHED WITH DOG MEAT 179 

Joe looked at him a little curiously. “ What do 
you mean by that?” he asked. 

The preacher hesitated a moment, regretting the 
speech. Then he replied : “ I was thinking of this 
electric line subsidy business.” 

Oh.” 

Joe turned his face away and looked across the 
fields and woods. Wayne was also busy with his 
thoughts and so they rode in silence. At last Joe 
turned to the preacher and asked, abruptly: 

“ Bob, how long are you going to stay with 
us?” 

The unexpected query brought a slight flush to 
Wayne’s face. ‘‘ I don’t know, Joe,” he replied, 
and then added, in a jocular tone: ‘‘Are you 
getting anxious to be rid of me ? ” 

“ You know better than that. But — forgive me 
— you dropped down amongst us in such an — 
an unexpected manner — that — well, I feared 
you might be as sudden in your notion to go. I 
know you were not born to this. Parson, and I 
can’t hope to have you with me for all time.” 

Wayne’s left hand grasped the lines while his 
right stole across and gripped that of his com- 
panion. “ One day you offered me a check, Joe, 
and I was thankful that I could decline it. To-day 
you have given me your heart and I am proud to 
accept it. The day will come, I suppose, and per- 
haps soon, when I shall be unable to remain here, 
but when I go I shall leave my heart here on the 
Wabash. For though — 


i8o HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


‘ The storms of life may fiercely blow, 

And sorrow in surging tides may flow,’ 

I shall always feel that my months in Tyler County 
fitted me more perfectly for heaven.’’ 

‘‘ That is a most gracious speech, and no one 
appreciates it more than I. Any true Hoosier 
would gasp with delight at those words.” 

“ And true men could not refrain from speaking 
them under like circumstances, because they are all 
true. The clouds were getting pretty thick in my 
life until one day a glorious sunset in Tyler County 
gilded them with a hope. Any man who has hope 
is drawn closer to God. The hope may wither, 
but it has given him a glimpse of heaven and he 
will cling the closer to the Cross.” 

I believe you. I know that the day you found 
me sitting under that old walnut-tree in the field 
I was utterly forlorn, but, somehow, you have in- 
stilled a hope into my life. There are some things 
I want to tell you, Bob, but not yet — I can’t do 
it yet. But I have always wanted to thank you 
for that sermon you preached the first Sunday. 
I can’t imagine how you chanced to take just the 
tack you did that day, but you builded better than 
you knew. Ah, Bob, it is the doctrine of forgive- 
ness that opens the heart, that enthrones peace 
where unrest has been gnawing. I can’t explain 
now, but I believe you have done this work. You 
have taught something broader than was instilled 
into our family by the generations among the flinty 
hills of New England,” 


BLEACHED WITH DOG MEAT i8i 


“ It is because I have lived among the shadows 
that I realize the need of extending forgiveness to 
those who are groping there through no fault of 
their own, but because of mistakes or treachery. 
I believe religion is what the Bible teaches it to be, 
and that it belongs not alone to the sunshine, but 
that it is also adapted to the shadows. Narrow- 
ness is not Christianity. God is love, and love can- 
not be shut up in our hearts. It must be exercised 
if it is to thrive. If it is locked up it perishes, 
and the ashes from its hearthstones will sift before 
our eyes until heaven itself is dimmed.” 

“ I feel the truth of all this, Wayne, and it is 
for this reason that I ventured to ask you how long 
you would be with us. The teachings of your ser- 
mons have not been in vain and you have so woven 
yourself into our lives that I dread the day when 
the woof must be torn apart. Lorraine said — ” 

Wayne turned to him eagerly. “Said what?” 
he asked, as the other paused. 

Joe stooped down, ostensibly to tuck the hitch- 
strap back under thje seat, and a smile flitted across 
his lips as he noted the other’s eagerness. 

“ Why, Lorraine said she thought you were 
preparing to leave us.” 

The preacher fumbled the lines a moment and 
clucked to the horse. The hum of a threshing- 
machine came to him faintly like the droning of 
some great bee, and then he heard the echoing 
whistle of a locomotive, the afternoon freight for 
Riverside approaching Craigville. They were close 


i 82 hearts and the CROSS 


to the town now, and he could see the box cars 
swaying and jolting as the train wound around the 
little hill, and he smiled as he thought of the day 
when he had, in a moment of recklessness, clam- 
bered into one of those cars and started on the 
career of a tramp, a career that was soon ended, 
and which turned his life into a new channel. Then 
a queer train of thought entered his mind, and he 
began wondering where he would have been this 
day had the train crew not compelled him to leave 
the car at the tank. For one brief instant he felt 
a pang of regret that he had not been allowed to 
continue as he had begun. Then would he have es- 
caped the goading voice of duty and lived uncon- 
scious of the heart torturings that were now his 
portion. A moment later he rebuked himself for 
these impulses. He saw the guiding hand of God 
in all that had taken place and felt a wave of 
gratitude that he had been so led that he might in 
the near future not only right a seeming wrong, 
but also clear his own name of the stigma placed 
on it by George Morse. His heart grew lighter as 
he dreamed of the day when he might force the 
author of all his troubles and complications to 
make at least partial reparation. So as they drove 
into Craigville he joked with Joe and even whistled 
a merry tune that he had known in his college 
days. 

They drove up Main Street past the Tyler 
House, and the group of loafers on the bench com- 
plimented them by waving their hands in saluta- 


BLEACHED WITH DOG MEAT 183 

tion. A moment later, and Landlord Hausman 
came plunging out to the sidewalk and called to 
them in a sort of a hoarse bellow. Wayne stopped 
the horse and waited for the German to come up. 
Hausman shook hands with both, giving the 
preacher’s hand a grizzly bear sort of squeeze. 

“ Parson, I couldn’t let you go past without 
shaking your hand. First time I’ve seen you 
since the dog day. Say, that fixed you all right in 
Craigville. That gypsy business gave you a black 
eye here, but you bleached it out with dog meat.” 
He shook his sides and roared with laughter at 
his own joke, and when Wayne joined in the laugh 
he was rewarded with a hearty slap on the shoul- 
der. 

Yes, sir,” continued Hausman, that dog out- 
weighed the gypsy. Bill Ward’s been boosting for 
you mighty strong, and the other day he drove out 
into the country and licked a derned skunk that 
said something mean about you. Bill wants to 
run you for the Legislature.” 

Wayne gasped in astonishment. My gracious! 
He can’t be in earnest ! ” Then, as the other 
nodded his head vigorously, he added : I must 
see Ward and stop that talk. The Legislature! 
Whew! I’d rather fight a mad dog any day than 
to tackle the politicians.” 

Joe leaned back in the buggy and enjoyed a 
laugh that caused the loafers on the bench to drop 
the tariff and imperialism for a moment and stare 
at the trio, 


i 84 hearts and THE CROSS 

“ Bob, you can’t live in Indiana and escape poli- 
tics any more than you can live in Klondike and 
escape frost-bites. You can guard all you please 
against either, but some day you’ll find they’ve got 
you.” 

“ But I am not fitted for the place. Besides, 
what has strangling a mad dog got to do with poli- 
tics?” Wayne was a trifle indignant. 

Oh, there ain’t so awful much difference,” re- 
marked Hausman. But I supposed you’d be 
pleased. That’s the reason I told you. A man who 
can paint things with his jaw-bone like you can 
ought to make a stem-winder in a campaign. Been 
expecting to see you on the stump this fall.” 

Sorry to disappoint you, but that is one - 
Hoosier trait that I am trying to steer clear of.” 

“Well, all right; every one has a right to 
choose his own barnyard, as the fox said to the 
hawk, but you’ll be mighty lonesome-like if you 
don’t get into a few caucuses and help down the 
other fellows’ underhand game — ” 

“ And assist in the triumph of some plan equally 
vicious,” broke in the preacher. 

“ All right. Parson, I won’t argue the point. A 
man that’ll fight a mad dog for the sake of a kid 
has my best opinion even if he won’t talk politics. 
Tyler House is yours any time you want to come 
in.” Hausman gripped his hand once more, gave 
him a left-handed slap on the shoulder, and turned 
away. 

“ Old Jake’s true blue, all right,” said Joe, as 


BLEACHED WITH DOG MEAT 185 

they drove down the street, and Wayne confessed 
to a warm regard for the jolly hotel man. 

Timothy Craig was making the anvil ring when 
they tied their horse and entered his shop. He 
greeted them cordially, and apologized for not be- 
ing able to shake hands on account of his ‘‘ dirty 
paws,” as he expressed it. 

‘‘You fellows have been kind o’ scarce since 
harvest began. So has everybody else, for that 
matter, and the old town’s been dead. I haven’t 
done much but work on puzzle pictures.” 

“ Ever locate those fellows that were on the hunt 
for the pirates’ treasure?” asked Joe. 

“ No, sir, dinged if I could do it. Don’t believe 
they were in the picture at all. The Sun printed 
the dog-gonedest one last week. Had to find six 
sheep, four turkeys, three cows, a dog, two cats, 
and a pair of lovers. It was entitled, ‘ Home, 
Sweet Home.’ Bess and I found a whole barn- 
yard full of live stock, but we can’t locate the lov- 
ers. I expect they’re in the house with the blinds 
pulled down.” 

The blacksmith chuckled as he dipped a red-hot 
horseshoe into the cooling tub and then tossed it 
over near the door. Just at that moment a figure 
appeared in the doorway, but dodged back as the 
shoe fell with a clatter close to him. An instant 
later he peered cautiously around the door-casing, 
and the smiling face of Paragraph was recognized. 

“Look here, Tim, don’t be so lavish in your 
bouquet-throwing, please. Had it not been for my 


1 86 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


great agility that emblem of good luck would have 
made a ringer on one of my shins. I appreciate the 
delicate compliment — but don’t do it again.” 

All right, Miller, come in. I want to see if 
you can find a pair of lovers in this puzzle picture,” 
and he took a piece of paper out of a niche in the 
brick fireplace. 

The reporter came in and shook hands all around, 
but looked rather helplessly at the picture which 
Craig thrust into his hand. 

Tim, I couldn’t find anything in a puzzle pic- 
ture if it was outlined in red ink, and, besides, I 
don’t think it is right to hunt for lovers. Let the 
Parson try it. My observation is that a preacher 
can locate lovers as easily as he can spot a yellow- 
legged chicken just right to fry. Both are his 
legitimate prey.” 

Then beware, young man, lest you fall a vic- 
tim,” said Joe, laughing. 

“ Oh, I’m not afraid. I’m as willing as an office- 
seeker. But I am chock full of business to-day 
and have no time for these idle discussions.” 

Why, I thought you were a gentleman of lei- 
sure, Miller,” said Wayne. 

Now, Parson, let me tell you that in my opin- 
ion no gentleman ever has much leisure. There is 
always something to occupy the time of him who 
has ambition, and without ambition no one Can be 
a gentleman; without ambition the hinges of the 
heart’s door corrode and refuse to open, the nat- 
ural impulses for good mold and rot for lack of 


BLEACHED WITH DOG MEAT 187 

nourishment, and the man becomes a mere figure- 
head, harmless, perhaps, in one sense, but falling 
far short of being a gentleman.” 

“Good!” exclaimed the preacher. “You have 
presented the question in a new light, and I am 
ready to espouse your view. Henceforth, I’ll not 
speak of gentlemen of leisure, but, rather, of men 
who do nothing. But what is the nature of the 
business with which you are filled this day?” 

“ Only business I could be interested in — news- 
paper business. Gentlemen, hear me ! ” He paused 
and looked solemnly about as if to make sure that 
he had the undivided attention of all, and then, 
with his hat extended in his right hand, much after 
the manner of a patent medicine fakir, he continued : 
“ I am about to launch in Craigville a great, free- 
spoken, untrammeled household weekly, a paper 
that will give all the news all the time, that will 
herald the weddings, note the births, chronicle the 
deaths; a. paper that will champion no political 
party, but which will throw clubs at everything that 
menaces the best interests of this community — and 
the first club will be fired at this electric line sub- 
sidy.” 

“ Are you in earnest. Paragraph ? ” asked Joe. 

“ You can gamble that I am. I lost out on the 
Smi because I had opinions that did not change 
hue in the presence of money, and those opinions 
will now be published in my own paper, the first 
issue of which will appear Saturday.” 

“ Well, ni be dinged if I don’t wish you all the 


i88 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


good luck in the world, and there’s my hand on 
it,” exclaimed Timothy, and the others hastened 
to add their congratulations. “ But, I say. Para- 
graph,” added Timothy, as he walked back to the 
forge, “ are you going to run any puzzle pictures ? 
If you are I’ll quit the Sun and subscribe right 
now.” 

“ All right. I’ll run them, then. I can get them 
from a plate house cheap. But I want something 
more than subscriptions; I want advertisements. 
You are in business here, Tim, let me run an ad. 
for you.” 

‘‘ Now look here. Miller, you’re a good fellow 
and I am going to help you all I can with your 
paper, but I don’t see any use of me putting an ad- 
vertisement in the paper. Why, ding it all, every 
man in Willow township knows that I am ready 
to shoe his horse.” 

Paragraph looked deprecatingly at Joe and 
Wayne and then back to Craig, and shook his head 
as though saddened at some thought. 

“ That’s just the way,” he said, after giving his 
pantomime time to have the effect he desired. 

Wherever a newspaper is born there must the 
advertising solicitor spend busy days and sleepless 
nights in missionary work, laboring to save the 
business men from decayed ideas, teaching them the 
gospel of progress and how to treble a success al- 
ready achieved. The heathen (pardon the com- 
parison, Tim) sits in the darkness of superstition 
and worships idols, firm in the belief that he has 


BLEACHED WITH DOG MEAT 189 

no use for those thing’s which are turning the world 
(his world) topsy-turvy, but at last there comes 
a day when he harks to the words of the missionary 
and is led, tottering, out into the dawn of better 
things. So the pioneer advertising solicitor in a 
community finds the situation. Those who are in 
business are satisfied to worship false idols, idols 
which tell them that the people of the community 
know that they have stores, and if they wish to 
buy they will come. You, my blacksmith friend, 
have beaten a living out of that anvil because peo- 
ple knew that they could get their horses shod here 
if they wanted to. Now — ” and he smote his left 
palm with his right as a vigorous bit of emphasis, 

‘‘ let us consider another view. The idea of an up- 
to-date advertisement is to create a want. You de- 
vote a little space to telling the people of the value 
of having a horse well shod at all times, and soony 
there will be less broken-hoofed horses in Willow 
township, because the farmers will see the point; 
remind them that it is prudent to keep their wagon- 
tires set properly, and there will be more wagons 
standing in front of your place; remind them of 
the little breaks in their plows, their cultivators, 
their binders, etc., remind them — ” 

“ Hold on. Paragraph, for heaven’s sake ! ” 
shouted Craig, grabbing up a pair of tongs and pre- 
tending to threaten the other with them. ‘‘You 
have reminded me, all right — reminded me of a 
small cyclone that dipped down in this neighborhood ^ 
about ten years ago. Never saw so much wind 


190 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

before that time, nor since that time until you lit 
in on advertising. Keep your mouth shut \” he 
shouted, raising the tongs as Miller parted his lips 
to speak. ‘‘ Just you play oyster for a minute and 
give me a chance. I catch the drift of the lecture 
you just delivered, and I guess you’re right about 
it. Fact of the matter is that I have thought over 
the subject before to-day and wished for a good 
newspaper for Craigville, but I wanted to josh you 
a bit before making any contract, but I’m sorry I 
started you. Just you put me down for a column 
advertisement, — and if you open your mouth on 
the subject again this afternoon I’ll surely harm 
you.” 

Paragraph chuckled and bowed in mock humility 
as the smith concluded. Then he tiptoed to the door 
with his finger on his lips, and with a comical wink 
at Wa)me and Joe he started up the street, whistling 
“ On the Wabash.” 

There’s a chap that’ll talk his way through the 
world if any one will,” said Timothy, pumping the 
bellows vigorously. 

“ How’s everybody up at the house ? ” asked 
Joe, awkwardly. 

“ Oh, Bess is all right,” replied the blacksmith, 
ignoring the fact that there were others “ up at the 
house.” 

Wayne laughed, and Joe blushed a fiery red and 
said he believed it was going to rain, notwithstand- 
ing the fact that there was not a cloud in the sky. 

Well, the air feels like rain to me, anyway,” he 


BLEACHED WITH DOG MEAT 191 

declared when Timothy called his attention to the 
fact that it scarcely ever rained in Indiana until 
there were a few clouds in sight. 

That just reminds me/' said the blacksmith, 
“ that the last time we were out to your house Bess 
borrowed an umbrella of Lorraine. Tve been for- 
getting to send it back, and I expect Lorraine will 
want it. Now, if it wouldn't be too much trouble 
you might drive past on your way home and get 
it." He turned his back to Joe, but the preacher 
saw a smile playing about the lines of his honest, 
freckled face. 

‘‘ Come to think of it, I — I believe Lorraine did 
say something about it. I'll just walk up to the 
house after it now." He paused and looked at 
Wayne. ‘‘Do you care to go along. Bob ? " 

“ No, I'll stroll up-town and see you after a 
while," responded Wayne, conscious that he would 
be one too many “up at the house." 


CHAPTER XL 


CHASING AN IDEA 

T he preacher walked up the street and was 
greeted pleasantly on all sides. Children 
going home from school smiled at him, and 
one or two timidly spoke to him, and after he had 
passed a group of boys he overheard one recount- 
ing to the others how “ that preacher had caught a 
mad dog with one hand and choked it to death, just 
laughing all the time, not scared a bit.” The loaf- 
ers on the hotel bench shouted a greeting to him 
across the street, and two men declared a truce in 
a political argument long enough to shake hands 
with him and say a few kind words. Then he real- 
ized that Hausman had spoken the truth when he 
declared that ‘‘ the dog had outweighed the gypsy.” 

“Hey, there!” He heard a shout behind him, 
and, looking around, saw Bill Ward coming toward 
him. 

“ Been looking for you,” said the marshal, as he 
gave his hand a squeeze. “ Heard you were in 
town, and Eve been searching the stores trying to 
find you.” 

“ Well, I understand that you are persistent on 

X92 


CHASING AN IDEA 


193 

a search. I heard that you even drove out into the 
country a few days ago to find a man.” 

Ward shifted from one foot to the other uneasily, 
and a tinge of red became noticeable under the tan 
of his cheeks. 

‘‘ Who told you anything about me going to the 
country ? ” he asked, after clearing his throat two 
or three times. 

“ Mr. Hausman.” 

“ Well, that derned Dutchman is getting to be 
too much of an orator. Used to be he wouldn’t 
speak five words at a time, but here lately his 
tongue’s ball-bearing.” 

Wayne laughed at Ward’s discomfiture. Did 
you find your man? ” he asked. 

‘‘ Ask Doc Meyers. He went out the next day 
and put leeches on his eyes. You see I had a little 
discussion with the cur, and he stubbed his toe and 
fell down and hurt himself considerable about the 
face. But I think the swelling about his eyes will 
keep his tongue a little quieter.” Ward grinned 
and glanced at a piece of court-plaster on one of his 
knuckles. 

“ I am sorry, Mr. Ward, if — ” 

Now, Parson, you ain’t got nothing to be sorry 
for, and neither have I. If any one’s sorry it’s the 
fellow with the leeches on his eyes. But that ain’t 
what I stopped you about.” 

‘‘ All right. I’ll drop the subject if you desire it. 
Now, what was it you wanted? ” 

Wayne felt reasonably certain of the marshal’s 


194 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

purpose, and was not surprised when Ward took 
him by the sleeve and led him over to a shade-tree, 
and after glancing around, said in a low, but em- 
phatic, tone: 

“ Parson, youVe going to the Legislature/’ 

Notwithstanding the fact that he was expecting 
some such declaration, the emphatic directness of 
the statement rather embarrassed the preacher, and 
as he attempted to reply his tongue floundered and 
he found himself stammering like a schoolboy. 

‘‘ That’s all right, Mr. Wayne, that’s all right,” 
broke in Ward, misunderstanding his companion’s 
confusion. Of course you are surprised, but it’s 
all right. I have started the ball to rolling, and it’s 
beginning to make things rumble considerably al- 
ready.” 

‘‘ But, Mr. Ward, as much as I appreciate your 
kindness, I must decline.” 

What?” 

“ I say I must decline to run. I don’t want to 
go to the Legislature.” 

“ Don't want to go to the Legislature? ” 

Ward dropped his hands at his side, and stared 
incredulously at Wayne as he asked the question, 
unconsciously raising his voice in his amazement. 

Now, haven’t I always said that the Parson was 
a rara avis? ” asked a voice from behind, and Para- 
graph stepped up. 

'' Pardon me, gentlemen, for intruding on a pri- 
vate confab, but Mr. Ward here spoke a little louder 
than he intended, and my reporter’s ears, trained 


CHASING AN IDEA 


195 


by years of practice in overhearing^ the exact things 
that were not intended for them, gathered in his 
words.” 

Oh, it’s all right, Miller,” said Ward, but I 
was surprised, and of course I spoke too loud.” 

“No wonder you were surprised. Parson, you 
must pardon his amazement. In Indiana a man who 
refuses an office is but seldom seen.” 

“ Nevertheless, I must insist that I do not want 
to go to the Legislature. Nor do I want any other 
office.” 

“ Well, no doubt we can find some patriot will- 
ing to place himself in the hands of his friends and 
take the nomination. The convention is next week, 
and if we are not content with those who have al- 
ready announced their candidacy we will have to 
hustle.” 

“ Oh, if Mr. Wayne won’t have it, I am willing 
to let the other fellows fight it out,” said the mar- 
shal, gloomily. 

“ So am I, for that matter,” replied the reporter. 
“ But don’t look so forlorn. Ward. The Parson 
hasn’t committed suicide.” 

“ I am simply trying to keep myself in a position 
to retain the good-will of my friends,” said Wayne, 
laughing at Ward’s lugubrious shake of the head. 
“ If I should break into the Legislature I would 
soon be an object of pity, I fear, because I am not 
schooled in politics.” 

“ But you know men by looking at them, and 
could set ’em afire with your speeches. Bern it all. 


196 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

we’d be proud of you, Parson.” Ward concluded 
with an appealing tone, but the preacher shook his 
head. 

‘‘ If I can read men I can also read myself, and 
I know that I can do more good right here in this 
community than I can by squabbling around the 
State House in Indianapolis.^’ 

The marshal sighed. “ All right, it’s all off, 
then,” he said. Then he squared his shoulders. 
‘‘ Fine weather we’re having. Miller.” And by that 
token Wayne knew that the subject was buried, for 
when a man forsakes an argument on any subject 
for the weather, Unis has been written to the argu- 
ment. 

Miller glanced at his watch. “ Well, I must be 
going,” he said. “ Fact is. I’m in one of Jap Mun- 
son’s hurries. Got to meet a type man down at 
the depot and give him an order for several new 
fonts. I calculate that when I turn loose on this 
subsidy business I will require lots of type with 
which to express myself.” 

“ But look here. Paragraph, don’t drive electric 
railways away from us. We need them, I think,” 
and Ward looked troubled as he spoke. 

“ Ho ! so you are stealing a ride on the subsidy 
band wagon, are you? Well, I haven’t time to ar- 
gue with you now, but I will later. In the mean- 
time, don’t you get any ideas into your head that 
we are going to have to pay for any line. There 
are people ready to put a line through here any 


CHASING AN IDEA 


197 

time they can get the right of way. Wayne, won’t 
you walk down to the depot with me ? ” 

They shook hands with Ward, and Wayne, 
noticing the sorrowful look on the marshal’s coun- 
tenance, gave his hand an extra pressure and flipped 
a joke that caused Ward to laugh heartily, and he 
was still chuckling when they left him. 

“ Coming out to Walnut Grove next Sunday to 
hear you preach,” he called after the minister. 

And say, give ’em fits on the subject of forgive- 
ness. Guess I need some of it — the other fellow 
got his.” Then he shouted : ‘‘ In the eye.” 

A few loungers were sitting on the baggage- 
truck, and as Paragraph and the preacher ap- 
proached, one of them averted his face until they 
had passed on into the waiting-room. As they en- 
tered they saw Jim Gordon standing at the ticket- 
window, his back to the door. Wayne caught 
Miller by the arm and paused. “ Round trip to 
Riverside,” they heard Gordon say, and as the agent 
pounded the pasteboard with his stamp Wayne 
quietly drew his companion back, and they walked 
down to the other end of the platform. As they did 
so Gordon came out with a sack in his hands and 
set it down by the side of the door. Then, after 
glancing sharply toward the truck, he strolled off 
to one side, and in a moment was joined by the man 
who had averted his face. The two talked earnestly, 
and once Gordon made a gesture toward the sack, 
but suddenly checked the motion as though he had 
caught himself in an error. 


198 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

“ Paragraph, who is that fellow talking to Gor- 
don ? 

Miller glanced at Wayne and half-smiled. I 
don’t know his name,” he said, “ but he is no friend 
of yours.” 

“ Why, I never saw him before. How do you 
know that he is not my friend ? ” 

“ If you could get a closer view of his eyes, you 
would probably guess. He’s the man that Ward — 
interviewed.” 

‘‘ Now another question. What do you know 
about Jim Gordon? ” 

“ Nothing much. Parson. He was correspondent 
for the Sim, and I always thought he was a pretty 
good chap until — ” He paused in evident em- 
barrassment. 

‘‘Until what?” 

“ Until you came. Since then he’s changed con- 
siderably, and I don’t like the change. He hates 
you.” 

“ Naturally. I got his clothes dirty.” 

“ That is the least of it. Why, can’t you see that 
he is crazy jealous of you? ” 

The preacher looked at his companion a moment, 
a flush dyeing his cheeks. “Of — of me?” he 
asked, awkwardly. 

“ Exactly. To speak plainly, he considered Lor- 
raine Wilson almost the same as won until you 
came.” 

“ And since I came — how has that affected mat- 
ters? I am sure — that is, I mean — ” 


CHASING AN IDEA 


199 

Paragraph laughed. Never mind just what you 
mean, Parson. I know without you telling me. But 
it should be sufficient when I tell you that it has 
made a difference. Somehow she preferred to walk 
home from church when Gordon was there with 
his buggy. And once or twice he has stopped at the 
house while I was there and you were at work in 
the fields. I am sure that he was treated with per- 
fect courtesy, but that was the gall. We treat 
strangers with courtesy; our dear friends we give 
courtesies warmed into an interest. Gordon is no 
fool, and he has dissected that courtesy and found 
stone.” 

The shriek of a whistle sounded near at hand 
and the black snout of a locomotive pushed its way 
around the hill, and in a moment the train came 
rattling up to the station. Gordon picked up his 
sack and got on the front end of the smoker. Para- 
graph met the type drummer and handed him his 
order. 

All aboard ! ” shouted the conductor, and a 
sudden thought flashed through Wayne’s mind. He 
remembered of two men with a pick and a spade; 
he remembered of a rocky hillside with fresh dirt 
scattered around, and he wondered if in Gordon’s 
sack there was — He broke the train of thought 
and rushed to Miller. 

‘‘ Paragraph, I’m going to Riverside on this train. 
Find Joe and tell him I’ll be back to-morrow. Tell 
him — ” He made a dash and caught the rear of 
the last car as it passed. Then he made a trumpet 


200 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


of his hands and shouted back : ‘‘ Tell him I’m 
chasing an idea ! ” 

He stood on the platform until the town had been 
carried into the distance by the rails, which seemed 
to be bearing the universe away from him with ever- 
increasing speed, and the last he saw of Paragraph 
he was standing in the middle of the track staring in 
amazement at the figure on the rear platform of the 
train. Then Wayne went in and sat down. ‘‘ Gor- 
don dissected the courtesy and found a stone.” A 
feeling of elation swept over him. It was true that 
she had preferred to walk when Gordon was there 
with his buggy. A glow broke from his heart and 
flooded his soul. 

Tickets!” 

Mechanically he handed the conductor a bill and 
then turned once more to his images. He saw her 
as she stood on the veranda, with the sunbeams 
dancing in her hair. He saw the clouds creeping 
closer ; she smiled and he saw that they were gilded. 
The train became a chariot of hope, and he with a 
sceptre of love was in command, urging the unseen 
steeds to renewed efforts as they sped through 
Elysian fields. 

“ Where to? ” The conductor’s gruff voice was 
in his ear. 

“To Lorraine — I mean to Riverside. And what 
time are we due there ? ” he asked, trying to cover 
his confusion. And then, not heeding the reply, he 
closed his eyes and wooed the ecstasy of waking 
dreams ; but suddenly a mist arose, and as it slowly 


CHASING AN IDEA 


201 


faded away he saw before him a Cross. With a half- 
sob he clutched his hands together and turned his 
face toward the window, but the Cross was there 
also, shining radiant on the glass. Deep in his heart 
he heard a voice crying, She is not for you ! She 
is not for you ! ” and an agony gripped at his heart. 
But the Cross shone brighter and at last he reached 
forth one trembling hand and touched it. “ Oh, 
God, Thy will be done,” he breathed, and a peace 
came stealing into his soul. 

“ Riverside ! ” shouted the brakeman, and Wayne 
arose. He saw Gordon leaving the train, and in a 
moment was following him. He had boarded the 
train on a sudden impulse and now he questioned 
himself as to what he was to do. Playing detective 
was new business to him, but the sack slung over 
Gordon’s shoulder was the loadstone that drew him 
on. He felt that a glimpse of the contents of that 
sack would give him a key to several things that 
were now mysteries. So he trusted blindly to luck 
and followed. 

Gordon walked rapidly up the street, not looking 
to the rear once, and Wayne congratulated himself 
on the ease with which he was enabled to play his 
part. Presently he saw Gordon turn into a stair- 
way, at the side of which was a small sign, ‘‘ John- 
son & Johnson, Attorneys.” Wayne stood irresolute 
at the foot of the stairs a few minutes, trying to 
decide on some plan of action, when he was startled 
by a voice from behind : 

“Were you looking for some one. Parson?” 


202 


HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


He turned and saw Jim Gordon standing on the 
curb, a mocking smile on his lips. The preacher was 
thrown completely off his guard, and stared at Gor- 
don without speaking, overwhelmed with amaze- 
ment. 

Gordon laughed derisively. “What’s wrong? 
Don’t take me for a ghost, do you ? ” 

“ No,” responded Wayne, “ but I’ll admit that I 
am surprised. I thought — ” 

“ Oh, I know. You thought you saw me go up 
that stairway, didn’t you ? ” 

“ I do not deny it.” 

“ Well, for your own peace of mind, I don’t mind 
telling you that I did go up there a few moments 
ago — and then skipped down a back stairway and 
hustled around here in your rear.” 

“ Very clever of you,” replied Wayne in a dry 
tone. 

“ Thanks. I flattered myself that it was a neat 
trick, but such an acknowledgment from Reverend 
Wayne is certainly delightful.” 

“ I don’t think there is any need of this sparring. 
How did you know I was following you ? ” 

“ Simply by seeing you get off the train. I knew 
you could have only one object — to follow me.” 

“ And why should I follow you ? ” 

The shot struck home, and Gordon shifted un- 
easily on his feet. “ Well, I don’t know,” he re- 
plied sullenly, “ but I just thought so, and it seems 
that I guessed right, Now, if you want to see me^ 
here I am,” 


CHASING AN IDEA 


203 


“ My business with you seems to be at an end. I 
am going up to see Johnson & Johnson.” Wayne 
turned his back on Gordon and started up the stair- 
way. 

“ Very well, I have a little business up there my- 
self,” said Gordon, following. 

A man with a bald head and a hawk-like nose sat 
at a table littered with typewritten sheets and vol- 
umes bound in sheepskin. He was evidently near- 
sighted, for he held a book almost against his nose 
as he read. As the two men entered, he dropped 
the book, and, turning his chair in the direction 
of the door, blinked at them as though trying to 
force his eyes to do the work required of them. 

‘‘ Well, Tm back again, Johnson,” said Gordon. 

“ Um-m, yes, so I see — or, rather, so I hear, 
because my eyes fail me.” 

“ Yes, I skipped out to find a friend of mine that 
I felt sure was looking for me. And, by the way, 
he says he wants to see you. Let me make you ac- 
quainted with the Reverend Mr. Wayne.” 

Johnson reached out his hand in a fumbling sort 
of a manner, much as a man would who was grop- 
ing for something in the dark, and Wayne clasped 
it in acknowledgment. 

Want to see me, Mr. Wayne? Sit down.” He 
set the example by wilting down into his big chair, 
and Wayne wondered if the chair had been made 
so large in order that there might be no danger of 
him missing it. 

I wish to speak to you concerning this electric 


204 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

road business — that is, if you are connected with 
the project, as I believe you are/’ This was purely 
a hazard on the preacher’s part. 

“ Merely as legal adviser, Mr. Wayne. If your 
business is of a different character I’ll have to refer 
you to Mr. John Ormand. He is in an adjoining 
room.” He pointed to a door marked Private,” 
and then asked, ‘‘ Shall I have you announced ? ” 

The preacher glanced at Gordon. That young 
man was sitting with his chair tilted against the 
wall, a sneering smile on his lips. It was evident 
that he knew that Wayne was groping, and the 
realization that he was being jeered at spurred the 
preacher to a decision. 

If you please,” he replied. 

Gordon’s chair came forward with a clatter, and 
he was on his feet in an instant. ‘‘ Never mind,” 
he said, as Johnson was reaching to touch a bell. 
“ I’ll notify Mr. Ormand for you.” 

Gordon strode to the door, knocked with a pe- 
culiar play of the knuckles, and then opened it 
and disappeared for a time. 

You may come in,” he said, reappearing pres- 
ently, and Wayne entered the room. 

The promoter sat at a desk near the window, 
apparently deeply engrossed in the contents of a 
letter. He looked up as Wayne entered, and a 
smile, evidently forced, revealed a flash of gold 
in his teeth. 

“ Ah, an unexpected pleasure, Mr. Wayne,” he 
drawled. ‘‘ Be seated — and I will beg your in- 


CHASING AN IDEA 


205 

diligence for a moment while I finish reading this 
letter/’ 

The preacher bowed and sat down without 
speaking. Gordon also took a seat, and there was 
silence for a time. The minister knew that he was 
being played with, that the others were indulg- 
ing in mockery, doubtless in the hope of convinc- 
ing him that he was making himself ridiculous in 
his role as a detective. The thought stung him. 
He glanced about the room and felt a thrill of sat- 
isfaction as he saw the sack which Gordon had 
carried lying near Ormand’s desk. At that mo- 
ment the promoter folded the letter and turned 
his chair facing his caller. He surveyed him a 
moment through his gold-rimmed glasses, and then 
said : 

“ I am at your service.” 

“ I came to see youC replied Wayne. ‘‘ My busi- 
ness is not with others.” 

He did not glance toward Gordon, but he fan- 
cied that the sneer had left his face. The promoter 
removed his eye-glasses and whirled them by the 
string a moment. 

“ Mr. Gordon, I believe he wishes you to with- 
draw,” he said. 

There was a smothered growl from the farmer 
as he went to the door. The two men were left 
alone, facing each other. 

'' Well ? ” said Ormand, after a moment of si- 
lence. 

‘‘ I came here to talk to you about right of way 


206 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


for your electric line. You claim to be desirous 
of purchasing private rights of the farmers.” 

But I was not aware that you owned any land 
in Indiana,” responded Ormand. 

‘‘Perhaps not; but if I represented another — 
Wilson for instance — what then ? ” 

“ Ah ! ” A quick light flashed into the pro- 
moter’s eyes, but he recovered himself in a moment. 
“ What are you driving at? ” he asked. 

“ Business — first. What price are you pre- 
pared to offer for a strip of Wilson’s land ? ” 

“ Well, I hardly know just yet. You see, this 
subsidy question must be settled first of all. By 
that time we can see our way clearer.” 

“ And by that time you will know more about 
other things on the Wilson farm.” 

Ormand dropped his glasses, picked them up, 
and nervously wiped them. “ What do you mean ? ” 
he asked. 

“ You will find my answer in that sack yonder.” 

“ Now, surely you must be trying some joke. 
Why, that sack contains nothing that could affect 
a land sale.” 

“ Then open it.” 

“ Why, what difference — ” 

“Will you open it?” 

“ No, I won’t.” 

“ Then I will,” and, with a quick spring, the 
preacher seized the sack and tore it open. Then 
he grew red in the face, for it contained nothing 
but potatoes, 


CHASING AN IDEA 


207 


Ormand laughed aloud. “ What a peculiar fel- 
low you are,” he said, as Wayne dropped the sack 
with an exclamation of disappointment. What 
could there be in those potatoes to so excite you? 
Gordon has a quantity for sale, and brought these 
to me as samples. Nice ones, aren’t they?” 

“ All right, John Ormand — if that is your name 
to-day — I own to having been beaten temporarily. 
The next time I shall not be fooled by a trick.” 

“ Indeed ? But if you have finished your busi- 
ness I will open the door for you.” Ormand arose 
and limped toward the door. 

“ Stop!” 

The promoter hesitated, and then turned back. 
“ I tell you I am through with you,” he said, sul- 
lenly. 

“ But I am not through with you. This is a 
meeting that I have longed for — prayed for — 
and now you shall not dismiss me until you have 
answered to me.” 

“ Again I ask you what you mean.” 

“ A moment ago you asked that question, and 
I pointed you to that sack for your answer. But 
its contents had been changed. Now you again 
ask me what I mean, though in your treacherous 
heart you know well enough, and I point you to 
the past for your answer. Its contents cannot be 
changed.” 

The promoter turned to his chair and sank into 
it. He bit the end off a cigar and lighted it. 


2o8 hearts and the CROSS 


“ Look here, Wayne, when are you going to let 
up on that question ? ” 

“ When? When the stain has been removed 
from the name of — from her name. When that 
has been done I shall turn from the past and pray 
God for a future.’^ 

“ And what do you expect me to do? ” 

“ Give that girl the protection of your name.” 

Ormand started to his feet. ‘‘ You mean that I 
am — ” 

“ I mean that you must acknowledge her as your 
wife.” 

“ And suppose that I refuse? ” 

“ Then there are those who will speedily learn 
that George Morse still lives — that the blackened 
body taken from the railroad wreck was that of a 
tramp.” 

“ So you threaten, do you? Well, perhaps the 
Wilsons will not exactly approve of your past 
record.” Wayne flinched, and the promoter pressed 
the point. “ I dare say that the old man does not 
know that he is sheltering an escaped convict.” 

I have my pardon.” The preacher’s voice was 
hoarse, and sounded deep in his throat. 

‘‘ And perhaps if he should be told that this con- 
vict, this felon with the prison pallor scarcely out 
of his cheeks, had enticed his daughter into a lonely 
cabin in the woods, and — ” 

“ Damn you! ” 

Wayne sprang at the man and his fingers closed 
about Ormand’s throat until his words ended in a 


CHASING AN IDEA 


209 


splutter. Then he flung the choking, gasping fel- 
low into his chair and stood before him, panting 
with the heat of his rage. 

“ So — so you show your colors at last, do 
you?” gasped the promoter. “You forget your 
ministerial cloak ! ” 

“ Yes, I did forget that I was a minister. I for- 
got all except that you are a cur, a traducer of 
women, a thing to be despised as the worm that 
wriggles in putridness, and that I was a man. And 
if you know a prayer, ask God to help me to not 
forget again.” 

“And why?” Ormand glanced toward the 
door as though expecting some one. 

“ Because if I should forget again, she would be 
a widow.” 

Ormand’s face grew ashy, and he shrank back 
toward the window. 

“You mean that you would murder me?” he 
asked, huskily. 

“ I mean that I could laugh on the scaffold 
knowing that I had avenged her.” 

“ And what do you hope to gain if I say to the 
world that she is my wife?” 

“What do I gain? My peace with God.” 

There was a rattle at the door and Jim Gordon 
entered. He looked sharply at the promoter. 
“ Did you call me? ” he asked. 

“ You know he did not,” said Wayne. “ But it 
is just as well that you came. I am going now, 
and this man may wish some assistance. He isn’t 


210 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


feeling well.” He brushed past Gordon into the 
outer office, where Johnson was fumbling among 
the papers. As he reached the hall door he turned, 
with his hand on the knob. “ And, Gordon,” he 
called, don’t forget what I told you in the woods 
— that the next time I found that thistle in my 
path I should crush it. I consider liars thistles.” 

He passed down the stairway and out into the 
street. The shadows of evening were lengthening 
and the electric lights were beginning to splutter 
on the street corners. The shrill cry of the news- 
boys and the warning clang of the street-car gong 
came to him. A blind man sat on the curb play- 
ing rag-time tunes on a cracked fiddle, while a little 
boy stood at his side and sang jumbled songs. 
Suddenly the sweep of the bow stopped a moment, 
and then the fiddle began breathing notes of soft- 
ened melody, notes like the sighing of the winds 
among the magnolias, and the voice of the boy 
arose in tones of childish sweetness: 

“Way down upon the Suwanee River, 

Far, far away.” 

The preacher felt a moisture in his eyes. He 
drew a coin from his pocket and a tear splashed 
upon it as he dropped it into the cup held by the 
child. 

He passed on. Heavy wagons rattled over the 
pavements and an occasional automobile whizzed 
by. A street fakir stood in a buggy on a corner 
and harangued the crowd that had gathered, of- 


CHASING AN IDEA 


211 


fering for sale cheap jewelry. As often as his 
crowd thinned out he quickly recruited it again 
by laying aside his wares and making a political 
speech, which he skilfully turned into an argument 
as to why they should not fail to take advantage 
of his generous offer. There was a warning 
shout from the crowd in the street and Wayne 
turned in time to see a man pushing a banana cart 
dodge out of the way of a spirited team. The 
peddler turned to shout a malediction at the driver 
and the preacher looked full into the swarthy face. 
It was the gypsy. 


CHAPTER XII. 


DAVE DICKSON, ATTORNEY 

P aragraph was busily engaged in prepar- 
ing the first issue of his new paper, but he 
found time to make flying visits to the 
Wilson place, and the preacher always felt a wave 
of good cheer creep over him when the young 
editor was by his side. He was so vivacious, so 
blithe, so filled with kindly good nature, that Joe 
declared that “ Paragraph could make a thunder- 
storm appear like a Fourth of July jollification/^ 
But Wayne had gone deeper than the effervescent 
nature that Paragraph always put forth, and had 
found that the editor possessed a heart of gold, 
principles that were deep-rooted in honor, and a 
moral courage that would cause him to cling to 
and defend those principles, irrespective of the 
storms that might be directed at them. 

‘‘ I am not cramming my opinions down any 
one's throat," he said to the preacher ; “ but they are 
my principles, my beliefs — and they are not for 
sale.” 

“ But supposing you should lose your advertis- 
ing patronage by refusing to advocate those things 

212 


DAVE DICKSON, ATTORNEY 213 

which some business men might outline? What 
then? ” 

Paragraph whistled a bar of a merry little tune 
and threw a clod at a jay-bird that was noisily 
scolding in a near-by tree, before he replied: 

“ Well, Parson, if that happens I’ll tie crepe on 
my pencil and leave it sticking in a crack of the 
building as a sort of sepulchral warning to other 
newspaper men who may have opinions and am- 
bitions. Then I will move. But I don’t think that 
will happen. Advertisers don’t take space as a 
charity proposition to the editor. If his opinions 
make the circulation increase, the advertisers want 
space.” 

The paper came out on Saturday morning, hav- 
ing been printed the evening before, and sample 
copies were sent broadcast over the county. The 
Cr aiguille Star it was called, Paragraph having 
left the selection of a name to Susanna. 

“ Couldn’t have made a happier selection,” he 
said to her. “ The sun is a prosaic affair shunned 
by poets; but a star! Ah, a star tunes the lutes 
of their fancy, and puts poesy on their tongues.” 

“ Well, Will, if it puts anything on your tongue 
it will have to be when you’re asleep, as it is in 
too much of a flutter at all other times.” 

Paragraph looked as though he had received 
a grievous stab, and Susanna slyly slipped her 
hand into his. He kissed the dainty fingers, and she 
ran away, laughing, while he went to look for 
Joe. 


214 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

The editor had asked Wayne to contribute to the 
Star, and the preacher had promised him a column 
for each issue, a column entitled “ Heart to Heart,’' 
and containing discussions of affairs of every-day 
life and a plea for a broader Christianity. The 
column was received so favorably the first week 
that Wayne became convinced that a new field 
was opening to him, and that by his appeals 
through the Star he could instill the seed of right- 
eousness into the hearts of those who would never 
be touched by any other means. 

The county and township conventions were at 
hand, both set for the same day, and every one 
in the community, save the Dunkards, was in a 
flutter. Wayne was working in a field when a man 
drove up, tied his horse to the fence, and then 
climbed over and extended his hand. 

“ Dickson’s my name — Dave Dickson. I’m 
from Riverside, and I’m after that legislative nom- 
ination next week.” 

Wayne shook hands with him, and somehow the 
manner of hand-clasp given him by Dickson 
impressed him favorably. It was hearty, with just 
the right amount of pressure, and with a suspicion 
of lingering in the release. The stranger was 
a man of probably thirty-eight years of age, of 
medium height and weight, rather sharp in fea- 
tures, with clear, blue-gray eyes, and witli hair 
whose color was a hesitating compromise between 
a deep brown and a black. 

“I understand,” said Dickson, “that Willow 


DAVE DICKSON, ATTORNEY 215 

township has not yet chosen delegates, and as you 
may be named, it is my business as a politician to 
see you and enlist you in my cause if possible.” 
He laughed easily as he concluded, as though he 
considered his business as a politician not exactly 
to his liking. 

“ I am not likely to be a delegate, Mr. Dickson, 
but I am glad to have felt your hand-shake, any- 
way,” said Wayne, and then added, with a smile, 
“ but you do not appear to take political duties 
seriously.” 

“ Well, ril tell you. Fve had a little bit of am- 
bition smoldering in my heart, and of course it 
would be an honor to represent Tyler County in 
the Legislature; but there are so many political 
tricksters swarming about that a fellow feels al- 
most ashamed to get out and hustle for the place. 
He has to do the same things, or many of them, 
that the demagogues do, and he cannot help feeling 
his manhood shiver occasionally. Not that I am 
dishonest in my campaign, but I am always under 
suspicion, and that slices into a man’s pride pretty 
deep. But if all honest men shrink away from the 
political cesspool there will be no hope of redeeming 
American politics.” 

“ Well, Indiana is certainly a whirlpool of poli- 
tics, whether it is a cesspool or not,” replied 
Wayne. “ I have been in the State only a short 
time, but I think that every second man I have met 
is after an office, or is putting his thumb into the 


2i6 hearts and the CROSS 


political pie some place. If he can’t pull out a plum 
he will hang on and nibble at the crust.” 

Dickson leaned against the fence and kicked at 
a weed. “ That’s just it. That’s just why a fellow 
who’s earnest and honest, with clear-cut ambitions 
and ideas, hates to come out for an office. He 
dislikes to descend, even in appearances, to the 
level of the piemen. But Indiana shouldn’t be 
condemned altogether for her political industri- 
ousness — ” 

“ No,” interposed Wayne, “ political industri- 
ousness is all right; but when it comes to a political 
industry, it is all wrong.” 

“ Quite so ; very cleverly put. When politics is 
a business it speedily reaches the same basis as 
business — barter; but industriousness is to be 
commended. George Washington and a lot of 
heroes in rags won for us the privilege of politics. 
Without Bunker Hill, Valley Forge, and York- 
town we would not have the privilege of going to 
the polls and naming every man from the President 
down. Industriousness in politics is our safeguard, 
apathy the numbness that precedes death. We must 
be active in the interest of good government, or the 
political tricksters will steal it from us. But I 
haven’t inquired your politics yet.” 

“ My platform is composed of principles. I deny 
that any man has a moral right to swear allegiance 
to this or that party. Great questions are continu- 
ally arising. The party whose platform assures the 
best solution of these questions, together with the 


DAVE DICKSON, ATTORNEY 217 

assurance of a continuation of those policies which 
rightly solved past questions, is the party entitled to 
the support of every man who remembers York- 
town.” 

“ You’re right, and you are not standing alone 
with those ideas. Thousands are throwing off 
party yokes and stepping out into the field of inde- 
pendence. The day when party bosses may de- 
cide a question their way and then crack the whip 
over the voter is passing. What has brought about 
this change ? The press of America, — the great 
dailies of our cities and the small weeklies of our 
country towns. They feel the public’s sentiments, 
and they reflect these views in their columns. Not 
only that, but they are on the watch continually 
for rascality of all kinds, and the selfish schemes 
of the political Judas are dragged out and held up 
before the people, and the people can be trusted to 
make no mistakes when they are in possession of 
all the facts. In a word, the press of our country is 
at once a detective bureau and a schoolroom.” 

‘‘If you carry those ideas into the Legislature 
with you in case of your election, you’ll be the 
despair of the lobbyists.” 

“ The lobbyists? Bah! The disciples of corrup- 
tion! There may be exceptions, but the rule must 
be considered. But, pardon me, I have not yet 
learned your name.” 

“ Wayne — Bob Wayne, of Willow township,” 
replied the preacher, imitating Dickson’s method of 
self-introduction. 


2i8 hearts and the CROSS 


Dickson looked hard at him a moment, stuffed 
his hands deep into his pockets, and indulged in a 
long-drawn whistle. 

“ Well, ril be — say, is this Major Wilson’s 
place? ” he asked, still staring at Wayne. 

“ Why, yes, but what of it ? ” 

Dickson laughed again in his easy way. And 
you are Reverend Wayne? ” he asked, ignoring the 
other’s query. 

I am a minister; but again I ask, what of it? ” 

Simply that I did not know until this moment 
that I was electioneering one of my opponents for 
the nomination.” A merry peal of laughter ended 
the sentence. “ That’s a hot one on me,” he added. 

Your opponent?” asked Wayne, puzzled. 

'' Why, sure ! They told me over at Craigville 
that you would be on the floor of the convention 
as a dark horse, and they told me confidentially that 
you would be able to trot me a merry race.” 

It was the preacher’s time to laugh. “ That is 
all a mistake, Mr. Dickson. Bill Ward started it, 
but — ” 

“ Yes, I know it was Bill Ward, and I know why 
he did it, too. Gratitude. I heard all about it — 
that dog affair, I mean.” 

Well, that doesn’t entitle me to political 
favors.” 

Anyway, it entitles you to the firmest friend- 
ship I can give you. The defeat will bear no sting 
if you are the victor.” 

“ But I am not a candidate.” 


DAVE DICKSON, ATTORNEY 219 

“ Don’t be hasty in your decision, Mr. Wayne. 
They’re red-hot for you in this section, and my 
honest opinion is that shrewd management on con- 
vention day and a bit of eloquence in the nominat- 
ing speech would give you the nomination.” 

“ If you don’t mind. I’d like to shake hands with 
you again, Mr. Dickson. When I first felt your 
palm I called you an honest man. You have more 
than vindicated my judgment by that speech.” The 
two men stood with clasped hands for a moment, 
and then Wayne added : ‘‘ But, aside from my own 
inclinations, it is impossible for me to be a candi- 
date.” 

And why?” 

Because I have not been in the State long 
enough. I told Ward I would not accept the nomi- 
nation, but I overlooked the fact that I was not 
eligible.” 

“ All of the others seem to have overlooked it 
also,” said Dickson. 

“ Probably they do not know it. Not many have 
ever inquired whence I came here. But I had not 
been in the State two days until I came to this 
township.” 

Then I feel certain of the nomination. It was 
this Reverend Wayne of whom I was hearing that 
made me uneasy. A dark horse in a convention is 
a dangerous animal.” 

He climbed back over the fence and untied his 
horse. “ Well, any time you need a friend just hunt 
up Dave Dickson. You won’t have hard work find- 


220 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


ing me. Most people in Riverside know me. I’m a 
kind of a lawyer.” 

Wayne thanked him, and the attorney drove 
away after promising to come out to Walnut 
Grove Church some Sunday. That evening, when 
the preacher returned to the house, he found Joe at 
the pump trough devoting an unusual amount of 
soap to his brown hands, and then he stood for 
some minutes before a small mirror, hung from a 
nail on the side of the wood-house, combing his 
hair. He appeared somewhat nervous, and dropped 
the comb twice during the operation. Wayne was* 
about to ask the cause of this unusual behavior 
when there came a merry peal of girlish laughter 
from the house, and a deep red overcame the brown 
in Joe’s face. 

Company for supper. Bob,” he said, rather 
awkwardly. 

“ It may be unministerial, but I’ll wager I can 
guess who it is.” 

“ Then I’ll save your dignity by telling who it 
is. It’s Bess Craig.” 

I knew it.” 

I’d like to know how.” 

Oh, just ’cause, as we used to say when we 
were boys.” 

Joe gave his hair another twist, and then dusted 
his clothes with his hand. “ She brought Lorraine’s 
umbrella back,” he said. 

I thought you went up to the house after it 


DAVE DICKSON, ATTORNEY 221 


when we were in Craigville the last time/’ said 
Wayne, in apparent surprise. 

“Well, I forgot it, because — because — Oh, 
confound it. Bob, don’t devil me so ! ” 

The preacher laughed, but his mirth quickly sub- 
sided, for in the doorway stood Lorraine Wilson, 
and a moment later Bess Craig joined her. They 
came out to the pump, and, as Wayne shook hands 
with the visitor, he felt that his self-possession was 
no better than Joe’s. 

“ This is the first time we have met since the 
Fourth of July — that terrible day — in Craig- 
ville, Mr. Wayne,” said Bess, and he lightly re- 
sponded that a farm-hand had but little time for 
social affairs. 

“ But I cannot understand why you should 
choose to be a farm-hand. Of course if you had 
an interest in the farm, I mean as part owner, it 
would be different.” This last was added with an 
apologetic glance toward Joe, who immediately 
mussed up his carefully brushed hair by raking his 
fingers through it in a nervous manner. 

“ Oh, it’s not necessary to apologize to me,” he 
said. “ I know that Bob was born to better things 
than farming.” 

“ Not better things, Joe,” she responded, “ but to 
more remunerative callings than that of a hired 
hand on a farm. But I now feel that I owe Mr. 
Wayne the apology for my impertinence.” 

“ I do not consider it such,” said Wayne, “ be- 
cause I understand and appreciate the spirit that 


222 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


prompted your words.’’ He did not glance at Lor- 
raine, but looked away toward the woods and the 
fields and the sunset as he added, more slowly : It 
isn’t always money that rules men. Sometimes it 
is duty. I came here, perhaps by accident, perhaps 
by some plan of that mysterious something which 
men call Providence. Anyway, I found a duty I 
could not forsake — no, not for the gold of the 
universe.” 

His voice had softened, but his tone was one of 
intense earnestness, for his soul had spoken in his 
words. He turned again to the group, and saw 
that Lorraine was standing with clasped hands, her 
eyes beaming with — was it gratitude ? 

“Bully for you. Bob!” It was Joe’s impulsive 
voice, and Joe’s hand gripped his shoulder as a fur- 
ther testimonial. 

Bess Craig smiled approval. “It is such men as 
you who keep our faith in God unshaken,” she said, 
and Wayne bowed. 

“ I thank you,” he said, simply. 

Lorraine went to the kitchen, where her mother 
was busying herself, absolutely refusing to yield her 
post to another. The mothers of the generation 
passing took pride in the attainments they displayed 
to such advantage in the kitchen ; the mothers of the 
coming generations may prefer fancy work and 
clubs. The Major had, on, several occasions, sug- 
gested that the culinary affairs be turned over to 
another, but, beyond having Susanna assist her, the 
good lady rebelled. 


DAVE DICKSON, ATTORNEY 223 

“ No stranger in my kitchen,” she said, and there 
wasn’t. 

After Lorraine had gone, Wayne excused him- 
self and went to his room, leaving Joe and Bess to- 
gether. The evening shadows were lengthening, 
and a turtle-dove, somewhere in the near-by wood- 
lands, was sounding its mournful vesper-notes. 
The merry whistle of the chore-boy was heard in 
the barn lot, and the tonk-a-tonk of the cow-bells 
sounded as the leaders of the herd* came poking up 
the lane. Joe parted his lips to speak, but there was 
no sound, so he raked his fingers through his hair 
again. 

“Aren’t you glad to see me, Joe?” she asked, 
shyly. 

He drew himself erect, and, conscious that he 
was towering above her in his superior bulk and 
strength, he resolved to use his tongue. Several 
pretty speeches flashed through his mind, but his 
reply was: 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well, then, I think you might say so, and when 
I ask you the straight question you might say more 
than a simple ‘ yes.’ ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know,” he replied. “ That word 
‘ yes ’ means happiness sometimes.” 

She blushed, and said she thought she had better 
go in and help Lorraine. 

“ No, don’t,” he said, gently taking her hand 
as she was turning toward the house. “ Let’s go 


2 24 I^£ARTS AND THE CROSS 

around to the hammock. I want to tell you a 
story.'’ 

Her hand rested a moment in his, and then she 
withdrew it and turned toward the lawn. He 
spread the hammock for her, and she half-reclined 
in its embrace. A nasturtium vine, rioting with 
brilliant colorings, clung to the latticework close 
by, and he plucked a number of the flowers and, 
holding high his hands, winnowed them through 
his fingers into her lap. 

“ A tribute to the Queen of Summer,” he said, 
seating himself in the rustic. 

She laughed merrily. ‘‘ Rather late in the season 
for the arrival of a summer queen, is it not? ” she 
asked. 

“ With you on the throne all seasons are glori- 
ous summer.” He was amazed that his tongue 
should not stumble and become paralyzed. 

“ My present position makes it impossible for me 
to courtesy to you, but you certainly are entitled to 
my thanks. You must have learned pretty speeches 
in the same school with Paragraph.” She tucked a 
cluster of the flowers in her hair. 

“If Paragraph has walked alone under the stars 
and learned his lesson by the throb of his heart, 
then he and I have attended the same school. Per- 
haps he recites better than I, but his schooling is no 
more thorough.” The rustic sat at right angles 
with the hammock, and, as Joe spoke, he leaned 
toward her, resting one elbow on the arm of the 
seat, his head on his hand, while his rough work-hat 


DAVE DICKSON, ATTORNEY 225 

was thrashed about with the other hand as emphasis 
to his unusual speech. 

“ Why, Joe,” she exclaimed, “ are you a poet, 
and is this some bit of blank verse you are recit- 
ing ? ” She toyed with the flowers in her lap, and 
the brilliance of the bloom was in her eyes. 

“If the man who feels a great love sweeping him 
on to happiness or despair is a poet, and if the 
yearning of a human heart simply told is verse, then 
I say yes.” He was on his feet, his hat clutched 
and twisted in both hands. “ Bess — I — ” 

“ Oh, yes,” she said, with a nervous laugh, “ you 
were going to tell me a story, weren’t you? ” She 
realized that she stood at the threshold of that 
supreme moment of a human life, — the moment of 
betrothal, — but with the curious perversity of a 
woman’s nature that causes her to endeavor to 
dodge the very happiness her soul hungers for, 
she was trying to postpone the climax to a most 
delightful situation. 

He checked the speech that trembled on his lips, 
and the hat was slowly brought out of its tortured 
condition. “ Yes,” he said, his tongue once more 
in a palsied condition, “I — I — believe I was, 
wasn’t I?” 

“ Well,” she said, toying with the flowers, “ I am 
listening.” 

He sat down once more and plowed his fingers 
through his hair. “ I see you are,” he replied. 
“ That’s the easiest part of it. But I’ll try. Once 
upon a time — • ” 


226 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


She clapped her hands like a child. “ Oh, 
goody! ” she exclaimed. “ Now I know it’s going 
to be a good story. They always are when they 
begin ‘ Once upon a time.’ ” 

“ I hope you’ll like it, for I never told it before, 
Bess, and if you don’t like it I’ll never tell it 
again.” His voice trembled a little, but she said 
nothing, and he continued : “ Once upon a time 
there lived a big hulk of a fellow who was a 
dreamer, and who did not seem to amount to 
much in the world. He lived in a world of corn- 
stalks and wheat-straws, and called it dreary. It 
was just such a community as this, and the fellow 
was just about my size. Then, one day, a fairy 
princess came riding by on a sunbeam, — a princess 
with rosy cheeks and — and — well, she looked just 
like — you, Bess.” 

Oh, how nice ! And of course the fairy prin- 
cess became in dire distress, and the dreamer by 
great daring rescued her.” 

‘‘No, confound it!” he exclaimed. “That’s 
where the story gets weak. The fairy knew no 
trouble, but was blithe as the sunshine always. 
The dull old community brightened after that, but 
the dreamer only dreamed the more, and in his 
dreams he built castles, and each castle he built 
contained the beautiful fairy as its queen. But the 
dreamer had a terrible enemy — ” 

She looked up, a startled expression in her eyes. 
“ An enemy? ” she asked. 

“Yes; a great, dark fellow, who clung to the 


DAVE DICKSON, ATTORNEY 227 

dreamer’s heels like a shadow. He was known as 
the Giant Doubt, or Faint Heart, sometimes, and, 
as often as the castles were builded, this terrible 
giant would tear them down and leave the dreamer 
trembling amid the ruins of the hope he had enter- 
tained.” 

“ Why did not the fairy slay this terrible giant 
for the dreamer ? ” she asked, softly. Then she 
added, rather hastily, You know that in story- 
books this always takes place.” 

He sprang from the rustic once more and stood 
before her, but his hat was gone. It lay on the 
ground, and was crushed beneath his feet. 

That’s why I am telling this story,” he said, 
eagerly. “ Bess, you are that fairy and I the 
dreamer. I have builded those castles and always 
you were there to make them home, but that Giant 
Doubt has called me a fool and has destroyed my 
castles. He says that a rough fellow like me must 
not expect a fairy — I mean you, Bess — to — 
love him. But a man can’t control his heart, and 
I love you. Don’t answer, for I know that you 
will laugh at me. Yes, do answer, for I have been 
haunted by this giant long enough. Is he right, 
Bess? Am I a fool to — ” 

‘‘ Hello!” 

Joe had stepped forward and clasped both of 
her hands in his, crushing the flowers she held as 
he did so, but now he dropped them as if he had 
been stung, and turned toward the road. Jap 
Munson stood leaning on the fence, his black- 


228 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


snake dangling in one hand. Joe picked up his 
hat and brushed the dirt from it. Then he looked 
toward Munson, and there was no welcome in his 
eyes. 

“Well?” he said, harshly. 

“See anything of my brindle cow?” queried 
Munson, without changing his attitude. 

“ No.” 

“ Didn’t know but you had. She got out of 
pasture this afternoon, and I’m on her trail. 
Where’s the Parson?” 

“ In the house.” Then Joe recovered himself 
and added more civilly, “Won’t you come in?” 

“ Nope, can’t do it. I’m in a rush to find that 
pesky cow. Say, did you ever notice a cow’s 
tricks? You hunt ’em for a day and don’t find a 
hair. Then you give it up, set down and bat your 
eyes a couple of times, and what do you see? 
The cow. Yes, sir, the cow’ll be standin’ right in 
front of you chewin’ her cud like a floater wallerin’ 
a hunk of fine-cut in his mouth when you buy his 
vote.” He flicked the whip-lash at a leaf, and 
then jumped the fence. “ Believe I’ll try battin’ 
my eyes,” he said. “ Want to see the Parson, any- 
way.” He shook hands with Joe and Bess, and 
asked the girl if she had heard any political news. 
At that moment Lorraine came out and called them 
to supper. Munson went to the house with them, 
and sat in an adjoining room during the meal, 
refusing to join them at the table. 

“ I’m in a rush,” he said, “ but I just thought 


DAVE DICKSON, ATTORNEY 229 

rd drop in and bat my eyes a couple of times and 
then look for that br indie again.” 

But he remained until long after supper, and 
the crime of '73 was dangled before their eyes 
many times. He was full of the coming conven- 
tion, and declared that he had the nomination as 
good as won. 

“ Just plain hustle did it,” he said. “ Just plain 
hustle. I showed the voters that hard times was 
a-comin' and that I was the man to take care of 
them in their hours of adversity. Even Hiram 
Owens has been lookin’ at that line fence of his 
kind o’ mournful like. He sees the dark day 
a-comin’, but he ain’t ready to give in yet.” He 
arose and went to the door. “ Well, I declare ! It’s 
plumb dark,” he said. “ I’m in a rush to find that 
cow. Batted my eyes a couple of times and it got 
dark, and I suppose the brindle’s given me the slip. 
Well, so long. I’ll take out across the fields for 
home. All of you come over.” He went out, and 
a moment later they heard him calling from the 
gate : ‘‘ I hear a cow-bell down the road a piece, 
and I’ll bet a dollar it’s the brindle. They always 
show up when you set down and bat your eyes a 
couple of times.” They heard his blacksnake pop, 
and then he was gone, leaving them laughing heart- 
ily. 

Joe had already gone into the parlor, whither 
Lorraine and Bess had fled to escape ’73’s melan- 
choly history. Wayne and the others followed. 


230 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

and evening’s home pleasures were enjoyed as they 
can be enjoyed only in an Indiana farm home. 

Lorraine touched a few chords on the organ, 
and then saying that she would pay tribute to the 
preacher’s memories, she sang The Suwanee 
River.” Wayne had picked up a book and was 
idly turning the leaves during the song. She was 
right. The old, sweet song did awaken memories, 
but, curiously enough, they were not images of the 
Southland that came to him, but he saw the 
crowded streets of a Northern city, he heard the 
clang of the street-cars, he heard the rattle of trucks 
on the pavement, and then he heard a cracked fiddle 
breathing in a pathetic strain the old refrain, and 
the plaintive tremolo of a child’s voice following 
the notes of the fiddle. The roar of the city’s life 
died out and the little voice seemed singing to him 
alone, seemed pleading, pleading as it sang. The 
tones of the organ ceased, and Lorraine turned 
to him with a laughing demand for applause. 

“ Hand-clapping and cheers for any song but 
that,” he said. “ That is too sacred. It breathes 
of all that is good and true; it whispers of the 
sweetness of heaven and hints at the forgiveness 
of God; and sometimes — sometimes it pleads — 
pleads for something, I know not what.” 

‘‘ The sentiment of the South prompting the 
tongue of a naturalized Hoosier,” she replied, and 
he laughed. 

‘‘ Lorraine, you must not make light of Mr. 


DAVE DICKSON, ATTORNEY 231 

Wayne’s words,” said Mrs. Wilson, in her quiet 
way. ‘‘ I think the sentiment does him honor.” 

Bless you, mother, I had no intention of ridi- 
culing him. It was so evidently the Southerner 
speaking that I could not overlook it.” 

“ I think your words were well spoken, Robert,” 
said the old man, but I would like to ask where 
you find a basis in that song for your statement 
that it hints at the forgiveness of God.” 

“ And I am afraid that I cannot make an intel- 
ligent explanation. Perhaps the figure was strained, 
but when I spoke I felt the basis. In the song the 
speaker is crying out his longing to return to his 
old home. A wanderer is sobbing for the scenes 
of his youth, and if it has been transgression that 
separated him from ‘ the old folks at home,’ surely 
the plea of the song would indicate his repentance, 
and when one cries to God from a heart surcharged 
with the bitterness of lost happiness and the humil- 
ity of repentance, I feel that it is a hint of God’s 
forgiveness, for God looks into the heart and for- 
gives. Man alone is unforgiving.” 

The old man sat with bowed head a moment, 
and the mother, with a look of — was it approval ? 
— toward Wayne, stilled her rocker, and leaned 
over and murmured a few words to her husband. 
He raised his head. 

“ You may be right,” he said. 

“ I am sure I am. We must judge man as God 
would judge him if we are to be just. If the Bible 
says God will forgive the repentant, shall man, 


232 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

especially men who profess to hold God's word 
in reverence, remain deaf to the plea for forgive- 
ness ? " 

The old man nodded slowly and deliberately. 
“You may be right,” he said again. He arose, 
said good night, and left the room, followed by his 
wife. 

Bess was seated at the organ, and now she sang 
one of the popular ballads of the day, and the ever 
attentive Joe stood by her side. Wayne again 
thumbed the leaves of the book. Then presently 
he paused. Buried deep in the book he had found 
an old photograph. He saw that it was the like- 
ness of Lorraine. Then he looked close. It must 
be Lorraine, he told himself, and yet — it was dif- 
ferent. Intangibly it was different. Lorraine’s 
mouth was a cupid’s bow, but the lips in the picture 
were almost straight. It must be Lorraine, he 
said. The same features were there, the same 
laughing expression of the eyes, the same delicately 
rounded chin. And yet — then he caught his 
breath, for the artist’s name was on the card. It 
bore the name of a Florida city — and Lorraine 
had said that she had never been in Florida. He 
felt his temples throbbing. It was the old ques- 
tion. Why had she sought to deceive him? She 
had admitted knowing George Morse, and when 
she had learned of the promoter’s presence in the 
neighborhood she had asked him to remain because 
of the flint in her father’s nature. And here was 
her picture taken in Florida. And if her father 


DAVE DICKSON, ATTORNEY 233 

permitted her to remain at home why should she 
fear the flint in his nature? Was it possible that 
the father did not know all? The mystery was 
deeper than ever. The picture baffled him. It was 
at once Lorraine and yet not Lorraine. It slipped 
from his fingers, and as it fell to the floor the back 
of the card was up. He picked it up, and some 
dimly written lines caught his eye. Holding them 
closer to the light, he read : 

“ The storms of life may fiercely blow, 

And sorrow in surging tides may flow, 

But whatever may come, come joy, come woe. 

May you retain this picture and a warm spot in your heart 

for The Original.” 

He heard a half-stifled cry, and saw Lorraine 
standing by his side, gazing with startled eyes on 
the picture. She took it from him, almost snatch- 
ing it. 

‘‘ Where did you get this ? ” she asked. And 
then she did a strange thing. She pressed the 
picture to her lips. 

I found it in this book,’’ he replied. ‘‘ It must 
be you, and yet it is different. Was it lost? ” 

“ Yes,” she said, excitedly. “ Father burned the 
others and — ” She paused in confusion. “ I 
mean — that — he burned them — accidentally. I 
did not know that one escaped.” There was a sus- 
picion of tears in her voice. 

And is it of yourself ? ” he asked. 

She looked at him in indecision. '' Why, I 
thought you knew,” she said. 


234 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

'He shook his head in a puzzled manner. 

Thought I knew what ? I am beginning to think 
that I do not know anything.” 

She turned and walked to the window. When 
she again faced him it was with a merry laugh. 
“ Why, Mr. Wayne, I merely wanted to see if you 
recognized an old picture. Of course it is my pic- 
ture. Isn’t it a perfect likeness ? ” 

“ I don’t know. One moment I thought it was, 
and the next moment I saw a difference.” 

But please do not mention the picture, Mr. 
Wayne. I want to — surprise father — some day.” 
Her voice had grown strangely earnest, consider- 
ing the insignificance of the affair, so Wayne 
thought, but he made the promise readily. 

The picture episode had escaped the notice of Joe 
and Bess Craig, for the young farmer had indus- 
triously turned music for her and had mixed it with 
provoking regularity. She stopped playing, and 
Joe bent over her and spoke earnestly in a low tone, 
his heart in his eyes. A flush was in her cheeks, 
and her fingers toyed nervously with the organ 
keys. He spoke again and her lips moved slightly, 
while the flush deepened. 

‘^What’s the meaning of those sly whispers?” 
called Lorraine, gaily, and the preacher smiled as 
he noted the nervous happiness apparent in Joe’s 
manner. 

It means that the fairy has slain the giant,” he 
replied, and then laughed at the look of wonder- 
ment that overspread his sister’s face. 


DAVE DICKSON, ATTORNEY 235 

A thunder-storm had been creeping up during the 
evening, and now a sheet of rain was falling against 
the window. The conversation was in a strained 
vein, and at last the good-nights were spoken and 
the two men were left alone. 

Don’t go yet. Bob,” said Joe, as Wayne glanced 
at the clock. I want to talk to you.” 

Wayne nodded his acquiescence, and for a few 
minutes there was silence, broken only by the dis- 
tant rumble of the thunder and the moaning of the 
wind about the eaves of the house. 

“ Let’s go out on the porch. The rain won’t hit 
us there, and I want to watch the storm — it’s too 
quiet in here.” Joe arose as he spoke and flung 
open the door, and they stepped out. The wind 
stripped a handful of leaves from the trees and 
dashed them into the faces of the men who had 
braved the elements. Joe took Wayne by the arm, 
and they strode up and down the porch a few mo- 
ments. Then Joe stopped and stood facing the 
preacher, both hands on his shoulders. 

“ Bob, she killed the giant,” he said, and then 
one arm went about the shoulders of his friend 
and remained there with a pressure. Wayne clasped 
the free hand in his. 

^‘You mean — what?” he asked, gently, sus- 
pecting the reply. 

I mean that I quit being a fool for a minute 
and asked her square out to be my wife, and she — 
Great God ! Who’s that ? ” 

A brilliant flash of lightning had come. He 


236 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

jerked his hand from Wayne and sprang to the 
porch-rail and stood peering out into the darkness 
in the direction of the road. The preacher was at 
his side in an instant. 

“What do you mean, Joe? Speak quick!'' he 
exclaimed, also staring out into that pall of black- 
ness while the wind slapped him and the thunder 
rolled overhead. 

“ Bob, ril swear I saw a woman when that flash 
came. She was out there — near the fence — in 
the road, I think." He had clutched the preacher's 
arm like a vise, while his other hand was extended 
out into the dark, and Wayne knew that he was 
pointing, though he could not see the hand. “ She 
was standing still, facing us, and I saw the wind 
whip a cape about her head." 

“ You must be mistaken, Joe. It was a tree you 
saw. The lightning distorts. To-morrow — " 

“ No, to-night! I was not mistaken, and I intend 
proving it." With a bound he was over the porch 
rail and running towards the road. Wayne did not 
hesitate, but followed him closely. They reached 
the road, but the lesser flashes of lightning revealed 
nothing but a glimpse of storm-swept fields and 
road, fringed by dark masses of woodlands. They 
ran up and down the road, hands clasped and arms 
extended, but nothing came to the human drag-net. 
They knelt close to the ground, often in the hope 
of catching an outline against the horizon, but they 
saw nothing. 

“ It was about here," said Joe, “ that I saw her 


DAVE DICKSON, ATTORNEY 237 

standing, motionless.” They stooped again to 
catch the faint glow from the horizon. 

“ It must have been your imagination,” said 
Wayne, but Joe said nothing. He took an old letter 
from his pocket, twisted it into a torch, and, shield- 
ing it from the wind by holding it under his coat, 
he touched a match to it. It flamed up, and he held 
the blaze close to the ground. Then he dropped 
the torch and picked up a bit of white that lay in 
the mud. He held it up in the dying gleam of the 
charred paper. It was a woman’s handkerchief. 

Do imaginations carry handkerchiefs. Bob ? ” 
he asked, and his voice sounded hoarse to the 
preacher’s ears. 

‘‘ No,” said Wayne. ‘‘ You were right. Some 
one stood here, but a search is useless. Whoever 
it was can easily avoid us. Let us return to the 
house.” 

They retraced their steps in silence, unheeding 
the rain that now pelted them. In the lighted 
room Joe laid the handkerchief on a table and stood 
without a word. The find was a bit of cheap lace 
without a mark of any kind. The preacher shook 
his head after making a close examination. 

A handkerchief — and nothing more,” he 
said. 

Joe tucked the bedraggled article into his pocket, 
and glanced towards his father’s room. Then he 
looked inquiringly at Wayne, and the latter under- 
stood. 

‘‘ No,” he said. “ It would do no good to speak 


238 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

of it. No matter who stood there, it is better that 
none save you and me should know.” 

They went up-stairs to bed. Both were silent, 
and Wayne fancied that Joe’s footsteps were drag- 
ging and uncertain. The young farmer pressed his 
face against the window-pane a moment and then 
he turned with a heavy sigh. 

I’d give worlds to know who it is out there. 
One giant was slain to-night, but another now has 
me in his grasp.” 

How long Wayne slept he did not know, but 
when he awoke it was to find Joe absent from his 
side. The storm had increased in violence, and the 
crashes of thunder following the lightning’s vivid 
frolics were almost constant. He turned his face 
towards the window, and by the lightning’s play he 
saw Joe standing there, one arm against the sash, 
his head on his arm, peering silently out to where 
the rain splashed and the wind whined. The light- 
ning gleamed again, and he saw that the man at 
the window was clutching a bit of lace. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

Hallowe'en 

T he morning dawned in murk. Mists veiled 
the fields, and the trees arose out of the 
damp mantle like huge, sombre-hued spec- 
tres. At the earliest opportunity, Joe was out in the 
road searching, searching for he knew not what; 
searching for some sign, some clue to the one who 
had stood in front of the house during the storm 
of the night before, and as he searched a silent 
prayer welled up from his heart that he might find 
no clue. The new giant that had been born within 
him was clutching at his heart, and he trembled lest 
his search might be rewarded by unwelcome dis- 
coveries. But he could not resist the impulse to 
scour the roads and even the fields. At first, he 
had returned to the house after reaching the gate, 
determined to dismiss the subject from his mind, 
but he stood at the window looking out into the 
soggy waste of dreariness, and unconsciously his 
hand slipped into his pocket and clutched the bit 
of lace. He drew it forth and again inspected it 
carefully, but no clue was there. He returned it 
to his pocket and again stared out at the bleak land- 
239 


240 //BARTS AND THE CROSS 

scape. It was calling him. He heard the silence 
of the mists speaking. ‘‘ Perhaps ! ” “ Perhaps ! 

was the plea that stole to him. He turned towards 
the road, and the bushes on its border beckoned 
sullenly. So he scanned the highway foot by foot, 
but no footprint was there. He plodded the fields, 
but no reward came. And when he turned again 
towards the house his soul was more at peace. 

“ A dreary morning,'’ said the Major, as the men 
assembled at the barn. 

“ A bitter one for the homeless,” responded Joe, 
and Wayne saw the old man’s cheek grow suddenly 
white, but there was no response. 

The secret of the hillside was appealing to the 
preacher, and, as there was no work to do that 
morning, he prepared to investigate. Joe was con- 
tent to bask in the smiles of Bess Craig, propound 
riddles, and turn the music for her as she sat at 
the organ, and the preacher was enabled to slip 
away with pick and spade. 

It was but a short walk to the hillside, and a hasty 
glance convinced him that no work had been done 
there since the night they had found the loose dirt. 
The hillside was rough, seamed with layers of rock, 
and where they had found the loose dirt the earth 
appeared to have been washed thin by the waters 
that trickled down from the crest of the hill when 
the rains came. 

The mists had become fog, and he felt safe from 
observation by prying eyes. He sank his spade 
into the earth, and found that the rain had lightened 


HALLOWE^EN 


241 


his labors considerably. In a few minutes he had 
reached a stratum of rock. He scraped the dirt 
away carefully and inspected the rock closely, but 
it gave him no story. He saw that it was jagged, 
and with his pick he chipped off a few pieces. He 
changed locations, and, after digging to the rock, 
he broke off other specimens. Then he replaced the 
dirt and returned to the house. He took his speci- 
mens to his room after washing them, and there he 
made careful inspection with a magnifying-glass, 
summoning all of his geological knowledge that the 
college had given him. At last an exclamation es- 
caped him, and he bent closer to his work. Piece 
by piece he studied the rock, and a pleased smile 
began playing about his lips. The door had not 
been latched, and now it was suddenly thrown open 
and Joe stood behind him, but so absorbed was 
the preacher that the other’s presence was not 
known. 

“ That tells it all ! ” he exclaimed, laying down 
the last piece. 

“ I suppose that I’m intruding, but I didn’t know 
you were here, and I can’t back away now,” said 
Joe, and Wayne turned suddenly. 

“ Come on in,” he said. “ You are interested in 
this stuff.” He pointed to the pieces of rock that 
lay before him. 

Joe picked up a piece, and looked at it curiously. 
“ And what is this stuff in which I am supposed to 
be interested ? ” 

“ Iron ore.” 


242 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

Joe stared at him incredulously. Guess you’re 
trying to joke me, Bob,” he said. 

“ I was never more serious in my life. I know a 
little geology — just enough to tell me that there 
is iron in those rocks.” 

“ But how does it concern me? ” 

It came from this farm.” 

Joe was silent a moment. Then he picked up 
another piece and looked at it through the glass. 
“ Well, I don’t know any more than I did before I 
looked at it,” he said, laying it down. “ But no 
iron has ever been discovered in this section of the 
State, and I can scarcely believe it.” 

“ Nevertheless, there is iron in those rocks. How 
much I do not know, nor have I any idea how ex- 
tensive is the vein from which it came. But I know 
that it is these ‘ signs ’ that have excited — ” He 
paused, undecided. 

Joe looked his surprise. “Excited who?” he 
asked. 

“ Some you do not know, but one you do know — 
Jim Gordon.” 

“ One day under a walnut-tree you wrapped the 
fog about me. Bob. The mists have settled down 
once more.” 

In a few words Wayne explained his suspicions 
that Ormand had a special motive in desiring to get 
right of way through the Wilson farm, but he did 
not explain that it was a midnight expedition that 
had first aroused his suspicions. This chapter he 
cleverly avoided, but he told of the thoughts that 


H ALLOWED EN 


243 


had come to him the night they had found the dirt 
loose, and by telling him half the truth plausibly 
explained suspicioning Jim Gordon. Then he told 
of his sudden journey to Riverside, which he had 
taken in the belief that Gordon was carrying in the 
sack something taken from the hillside. He de- 
clared that while Gordon had detained him on the 
street and in the front office at Johnson & Johnson’s 
the rock had been removed from the sack and the 
potatoes obtained by means of a rear stairway. 

They have plotted to secure that land under pre- 
tense of securing electric line right of way,” he said, 
in conclusion. 

“ Bob, it was a lucky day for us when you came 
to that walnut-tree,” exclaimed Joe, enthusiastically. 
A burst of merry laughter came to them from the 
room below, and Wayne felt his face grow warm 
with the blood that surged through his veins. 

“ Perhaps,” he said, and they sat in silence a 
moment. “ If I knew that I could have but one 
prayer granted it would be that you should never 
recall those words,” he added. 

“Why, what’s the trouble? You look sol- 
emn.” 

Wayne pointed out the window. “ You see the 
mists. They are baffling, and when they creep into 
the heart they leave us — well, groping, unsteady, 
uncertain.” Lorraine’s voice arose again in merry 
jest, and the red blood stole once more to the 
preacher’s cheeks. Joe noted it and smiled know- 
ingly. 


244 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

Perhaps there is a giant shadowing you, also,” 
he said. 

Wayne was silent, and Joe leaned over and placed 
his hand affectionately on his shoulder. ‘‘ Remem- 
ber how I slew that giant,” he said, looking into 
his eyes. 

“You are kind, Joe — but you do not under- 
stand.” He picked up a piece of the rock again. 
“ I think we had better show this to your father 
in order that he may be on his guard against pro- 
spective buyers. It would also be well for him to 
have this assayed, and have experts look over the 
ground.” 

Later the old man listened to Wayne’s disclosures, 
and said that he would see to having the rock as- 
sayed. In the meantime, none of his land would 
be sold. 

The convention morning came, and Jap Munson 
was the busiest man in Willow Township. He was 
at the Wilson place early, nervous and excited, and 
demanding to know what was to become of the peo- 
ple when famine came to the land if the township 
trustee was not competent and had not studied the 
situation. 

“ If your flock needs spiritual food. Parson, point 
them to the Lord, but if their stomachs are empty 
and their toes cold, lead them to the trustee’s office.” 

“ Well, Munson, I am not a politician, and I have 
not been associated with your party, and therefore 
cannot render you any assistance in the convention, 


H ALLOWED EN 


245 

but I sincerely hope that you will win the nomina- 
tion and the election/^ 

Munson bobbed his red head in acknowledg- 
ment. “ That’s nice of you, Parson. But in a case 
like this politics should be laid aside.” 

“No doubt you are right,” said Wayne, smil- 
ing, “ but I have not the power to shove it aside 
for you. It requires all of my persuasive abilities 
to keep men on the road to the better world. If 
I dabbled in politics I should soon lose what little 
prestige I now possess. A minister is a man, a 
mortal, of course, but when he steps from his pul- 
pit into politics he is taking chances on losing the 
ground he has already gained for the welfare of 
men, with but little chance of accomplishing much 
good in the new field.” 

“ Well, Parson, our objects are somewhat the 
same. It’s a long journey you are starting men on; 
it’s a short one I am trying to save them from. 
Heaven is far away, but the poorhouse is under 
our noses. When I look for the former my view 
is obstructed by the latter, and I see a sad-eyed pro- 
cession tottering towards it always. But I’m in a 
rush,” he said, suddenly springing to his feet. “ I’ve 
got this nomination in a walk, but I’ve got to keep 
stepping along until I pass imder the wire.” He 
strode to the door and then turned again. “ Found 
that old brindle down the road the other night, all 
right. Knew I would if I just set down and batted 
my eyes a few times.” 

“ How is Mrs. Munson ? ” inquired Mrs. Wilson. 


246 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

Just fine, just line. Hasn’t taken a dose of med- 
icine since supper-time last night. Elihu’s rheu- 
matism’s worse — no, it’s Johnny that’s got the 
rheumatiz — no — yes — derned if — I beg pardon 
— I know which it is, but one of ’em is stiffer ’n a 
poker this morning. Well, I must rush along. I’ll 
be back to-night with that nomination tucked in my 
inside pocket.” He hurried away, and, climbing into 
his buggy, dashed down the road towards Craigville 
as though going to a fire. 

He returned that evening in high spirits, and they 
knew by the scallop he cut in driving up to the house 
that he had the nomination “ in his inside pocket.” 
He fairly danced up to the porch. 

‘‘ I’m it,” he said, and then laughed as though he 
had voiced a witticism. They grasped his hand, and 
offered congratulations. “ Yes, sir. I’m it,” he re- 
peated, smiling and bobbing his head more energeti- 
cally than ever. I’m the standard-bearer for Wil- 
low Township and I’m goin’ to make ’em hump 
some, you bet.” 

That’s right, Jap,” said Joe. ‘‘ Make things 
buzz. Put an advertisement in the Craigville Star, 
‘ Jasper Munson, Official Guide to the Poorhouse. 
If You Are Hungry See Me! ’ ” 

There you go, Joe, making light of serious 
questions. I tell you I already hear the howl of the 
wolf, but I’m the man to wrestle with the brute in 
this township.” 

“ My hearing is a little bad and I haven’t heard 
his howl yet, but if I do I’ll make a dive for you, 


H ALLOWED EN 


247 


Jap. But tell us of the stirring incidents of the day, 
for I feel sure that a whirlwind campaigner like 
you must have created considerable of a ripple.’' 

Jap pulled off his hat and scratched his head 
meditatively a moment. “ Well,” he said, after a 
pause, things did get stirred up considerable like. 
Seemed like most of the intelligent people recog- 
nized that I was the chap for this wolf business, 
and I’d ’a’ got it without a quiver if Hiram Owens 
hadn’t got spiteful. You see, Owens hain’t got over 
that fence argument yet, and he fit me tooth and 
toe-nail, but I got even with him. I called the peo- 
ple’s attention to the time that Dunkard’s smoke- 
house was relieved of a couple of hams and Owens’s 
dog was found shut up there the next morning.” 

‘‘ Well, I should think that would stir things a 
little,” suggested the preacher. 

Yes, somewhat,” said the candidate, with a 
twinkle in his eyes. “ Owens got ripping mad, 
and in front of the crowd he challenged me to a 
duel.” 

Which, of course, you refused to accept,” said 

Joe. 

‘‘ Which, of course, I did accept,” said Munson. 
“ You see I’ve read all about duels, and I claimed 
the right to the choice of weapons, and told him 
that I’d meet him in fifteen minutes in the street in 
front of the Tyler House. He couldn’t back out, 
and I suppose he thought the marshal would stop 
the affair anyhow, but I saw Bill Ward, and whis- 
pered in his ear, and he agreed that he had business 


248 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

some place else.” Munson leaned back against the 
house and chuckled. 

Lorraine had come out and was listening to the 
recital. ''You didn’t hurt him, did you?” she 
asked, anxiously, and Munson chuckled again. 

" Hurt him? Land sakes, no. Lorry! I was on 
hand at the minute and Owens was there, and so 
was a big crowd. I had gone to the harness shop 
and got two blacksnake whips, and I offered Owens 
his choice, the duel to be fought at five paces.” His 
chuckle gave way to a paroxysm of laughter. " How 
that man did snort,” he said, and then went off into 
another peal of laughter. " Said he had French 
blood in his veins, and such weapons were not fit 
for gentlemen. I popped the cracker pretty close 
to his ear and he nearly died. He busted out of that 
crowd like a rhinoceros, and the people swore that 
I was the man to scrap the wolf. And that was 
convention day in Craigville.” 

" And what’s the news from Riverside ? Who 
was nominated for representative?” asked Wayne, 
after acknowledging that Munson had had a stir- 
ring time. 

" Dickson got there on the fifteenth ballot. Sam 
Sloan only got three votes for sheriff, and they all 
came from Willow Township. But I must rush 
along home. Expect wife’s down in bed sick by 
this time. Oh, yes, I’m goin’ to build a new barn, 
a whopper, and when I get it done I’m goin’ to give 
a blow-out in it, sort of a barn- warmin’. Come 


H ALLOWED EN 


249 

pretty near forgettin’ to tell yon about it I was in 
such a rush.” 

He drove away in the twilight, and as Wayne 
watched him he found a sort of envy creeping into 
his heart. He envied Munson his care-free nature, 
a nature that pretended pessimism, but lived op- 
timism. Trouble slipped away from him always. 
His wife loved the gloom of an ailing life, and, as 
Jap had once told Joe confidentially, she was 
never so happy as when she was miserable.” But 
in spite of this, in spite of the “ crime of ^73,” which 
he pressed to his bosom, he lived in the sunshine, 
always happy, always friendly. Wayne turned 
from his watch of Munson’s retreating buggy and 
found Lorraine’s eyes on him. 

“ It was rude of me to watch you so closely, Mr. 
Wayne,” she said, smiling, “ but while you were 
gazing at Mr. Munson I thought I detected a wist- 
ful look in your eyes, as if you would call him back 
for some purpose.” 

“ You once declared that my Southern ancestry 
had declared itself in a bit of speech. I now state 
that your Yankee ancestry has stepped to the fore.” 

“ You mean that I have been guessing? ” 

Yes — and correctly. A Southerner knows a 
thing by intuition, the sense that is supposed to 
guide feminine creatures, but a Yankee has no such 
word as ‘ intuition ’ in his lexicon. He dissects a 
subject mercilessly, and when he has finished, sen- 
timent has been slaughtered, but fact has been found. 
For want of a better designation he calls this proc- 


250 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

ess ‘ guessing/ and this is why Yankee guesses are 
always called shrewd. His guess is a methodical 
deduction.’’ 

“ In truth, Sir Critic, you have disarmed me by 
your play of words. I know not whether to bow 
as an humble fraud discovered or to tilt my chin in 
hauteur as the child of a superior people. You have 
dethroned our methods, but you have paid homage 
to the results.” 

“ And, after all, it is results that count,” he said. 

For instance, let us consider my first sermon here, 
‘ The Rose and the Thorn.’ No matter how one 
receives the rose, if the prick of the thorn is felt, 
the wound will be as deep, whether it was given with 
intent or whether it was given in innocence.” 

And all of this goes to prove that I was right 
in my guess, deduction, or what you will, concern- 
ing the wish your eyes bore as Mr. Munson drove 
away.” She laughed merrily. Did you want the 
crime of ’73 brought out? I noticed that he forgot 
that heinous event.” 

“ No, I can’t say that I particularly wished for 
Jap’s return. I hardly know how to express it, 
but I felt that I should like to be possessed of his 
buoyancy of character. He is firmly convinced that 
the poorhouse will have to be enlarged, but he can 
turn from the spectacle and live contented in the 
present.” 

“ Perhaps that is because he has no past,” she 
replied. “ Contentment is as dependent upon the 
past as on the future, and as to-day will be the past 


H ALLOWED EN 


251 

of to-morrow we must guard the present carefully, 
that contentment may be ours.” 

Well, all of this is no doubt lost on Munson. 
He revels in politics, and the question of a past 
has, doubtless, never occurred to him, except as its 
record might affect his ‘ pull ’ with the party wheel 
horses. But even in political defeat he would be 
unruffled. The aches and pains of his flock do not 
torment him, but the flexibility of a new blacksnake 
is of the gravest importance. He talks of clouds, 
but lives in the sunshine.” 

The others had gone into the house, and Wayne 
and the girl stood alone on the porch. The delights 
of September were in the air, and though the breath 
of early fall was still balmy it was touched with in- 
vigoral. The meadows lay brown and cheerless, 
and the woodlands were already waving bare arms 
here and there. 

'' That means that school-days are at hand,” she 
said, as a gust swept a bunch of leaves from a 
giant cottonwood close by. Wayne started sud- 
denly. He had forgotten the approach of school, 
and now a tempest of thoughts flooded his brain. 

Then you will teach again this year? ” he asked. 

Certainly,” she replied, and there was a mo- 
ment’s silence. The preacher felt a sense of irrita- 
tion. Why did she not say more? Why did she 
not declare that she dreaded the beginning of the 
term? Why should she leave her home from Mon- 
day until Friday? Then he realized that such 
thoughts were ridiculous. What did it matter to 


252 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

him if she taught school and remained away ? What 
right had he to question her affairs ? 

‘‘ And I suppose you will board at Gordon’s 
again,” he said, without looking at her. 

‘‘ Perhaps,” she said, after a moment. 

‘‘ I should think it would be — would be con- 
venient. It is close, you know.” 

Yes, it is close, but I think I shall get a saddle- 
horse and board at home. I love to ride, and on 
bad days Joe can drive after me.” 

Perhaps Jim Gordon would — ” 

“ Mr. Wayne ! ” Her tone was sharp, and sa- 
vored of anger. 

He swept his hat from his head, and bowed to 
her. “ I beg your pardon, I did not mean to be im- 
pertinent. I only — I only — that is — well, some- 
how I can’t find the words I want, and I can only 
say that I am sorry.” 

She laughed gaily. “ Oh, it’s all right, I am sure. 
My tone was sharper than I intended. Mr. Gordon 
has been very kind to me — but Joe will come for 
me. You must excuse me now. I am sure mother 
needs me.” 

She entered the house, and Wayne stood looking 
at the brown fields with the unsightly shocks of 
drying corn-fodder showing dully here and there 
in the gathering gloom. There was an ache in his 
heart, not poignant, but dull and constant. He had 
made confessions to himself before, but now he was 
unable to name the cause of that steady ache. It 
was baffling, but it was there, and, with the gloom 


H ALLOWED EN 


253 


of night settling in his heart, he felt again the im- 
pulse to flee from it all, to run away. Out there 
in the great world, which he knew was throbbing 
just beyond the horizon, there would be relief. 
What was he accomplishing here? He was simply 
waiting, waiting for he knew not what. In his 
heart he carried a love for Lorraine Wilson, a love 
that he had assisted in rendering hopeless. She did 
not guess his secret, of that he felt certain, and of 
that he was glad. To her he was a preacher, an 
employee of her father; an honored one, perhaps, 
but nothing more. It was all so dreary. The dusk 
deepened into night as he stood there, and from 
beyond the horizon the great world whispered to 
him to come. He turned and went to his room, 
intending* to steal away, but in the darkness of the 
room a Cross seemed to glow white before him. 
He stood irresolute a moment, and then taking a 
small pipe from a drawer he filled and lighted it, 
and sat down with his back to the window that the 
world beyond the horizon might not tempt him 
again. And so Paragraph found him half an hour 
later when he had received Come ” in answer to 
his rap. 

“ Shades of Pluto ! ’’ exclaimed the editor, as he 
opened the door and found himself confronted by 
darkness. “ Is this a game of ‘ Parson, Parson, 
where’s the Parson?’ And that dull glow doth 
also startle me. Reason falters at the ruddy speck, 
but; (sniffing) my nostrils whisper that ’tis tobacco 
in process of cremation ; tobacco, the plant that 


254 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

made little Robby Reed famous in the school-books. 
But let me hear a voice from out this Plutonian 
darkness.” 

All right, Paragraph, be not alarmed. Here’s 
the voice, and now if you will strike a match you’ll 
find that your nostrils are sagacious.” 

Miller fumbled in his pocket for a match, and 
then its tiny flame flared up. 

‘‘ Here’s the lamp,” said Wayne. Have a seat,” 
he added, as Paragraph stood looking at him curi- 
ously. 

‘‘ Guess I’m acting like a kid,” replied the editor, 
taking the proffered chair, “ but I’ll own up to be- 
ing surprised at seeing you smoking.” 

Wayne smiled. My Episcopal moment is on 
me,” he said. 

‘‘ Well, you look comfortable and happy with that 
bit of brier, and (sniffing again) I congratulate you 
on your Episcopal choice of tobacco. That is good 
stuff.” 

'' I use no other brand. It is a link that binds 
me to Florida. I know the factory where this is 
prepared ; I know the men who do the work. Why, 
I can take three whiffs of it and name the planta- 
tion where it grew, and I can sing the songs the 
darkies droned while they were gathering it.” 

** Sort of an old acquaintance, is it ? ” 

Better — an old friend. Some friends chide ; 
this one consoles.” 

‘‘ But I supposed you were opposed to smoking,” 
said Paragraph. 


H ALLOWED EN 


255 

So I am, when it is harmful ; but it is not harm- 
ful to me.” 

But are you not encouraging a temptation for 
some weaker brother ? ” 

“ ril admit that this question as to whether or 
not a man is his brother’s keeper is puzzling as to 
degree. If you partake of corned beef and cabbage 
are you sinning because you dangle a temptation in 
front of a dyspeptic? I once read in a book of a 
fellow who called his pipe an altar on which he 
burned incense to memory. Mine is a funeral pyre 
on which I cremate the past.” 

‘‘ And what of the future? ” 

The preacher blew a whiff of smoke into the air 
and then waved his hand towards it. “ Even as 
these curling smoke-wreaths. Hope gives us a 
glimpse, but it eludes our grasp.” 

“ All right. Parson, I guess you’re the kind of 
a fellow to make a Christian out of me. Susanna 
intimates occasionally that no one can ever lead me 
along the strait and narrow path, but she’s wrong. 
Somehow, I never took up with those fellows who 
snooped around until they found a chap enjoying 
himself, and then declared that he was standing 
on the shore of the brimstone lake. Seems like all 
of the good things in life belong to old Mephis- 
topheles, according to their view. Seems to me a 
fellow can believe in Christ and the Cross without 
locking himself in a cage.” 

‘‘ I think so myself. I feel the presence of God, 
but I am human and apt to err. Therefore, I can 


256 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

only hope that those among whom I labor will imi- 
tate my virtues, if such I possess, and heed the les- 
son taught by my faults. Man is so frail and the 
God we worship so great that we can only struggle 
with clean hearts and right intentions to be found 
worthy. I can stand at the brink of the grave and 
. offer supplication for the peace of the soul departed, 
but I am answered by faith alone. I shout into the 
tomb, the ear of eternity, but no answer comes back 
save that given to me in the Bible, and that I read 
with such wisdom and divining power as God has 
given to me, but my intellect is feeble as compared 
to the great questions that well up from the silence 
of the tomb. 

“ < For what am I ? 

An infant crying in the night ; 

An infant crying for the light; 

And with no language but a cry.’ 

I stand in my humble pulpit and preach the love and 
fatherhood of God, but I shall not advocate a man- 
made creed, for all men are like myself, ‘ infants 
crying in the night,’ and in Mark’s book we find 
Jesus saying, ' Howbeit in vain do they worship 
me, teaching for doctrines the commandments of 
men.’ ” 

‘‘ When more men like you stand in the pulpits 
of our country. Parson, the building committees 
will have busy times enlarging the churches, for 
your doctrine appeals to the honest seeker. We 
have too much religion and not enough Christianity. 
Each religion declares that those who do not believe 


H ALLOWED EN 


257 

its special dogmas shall be damned. It is as wise 
for Jap Munson to say that all who refuse to vote 
for free silver will be lost.’’ 

But the intelligence of man is asserting itself 
and Christianity is triumphing over superstition,’’ 
replied Wayne. “ The press dispatches in the daily 
papers from time to time give to the world the in- 
formation that this or that denomination is con- 
sidering the proposition of revising its creed. The 
world is advancing out of darkness, and one by one 
the hideous barnacles are being torn from the Bible, 
until, some day, the ministers of God will face the 
world with one hand reaching down to uplift the 
faltering ones, and with no text-book of Christian- 
ity but the Bible in the other, and they shall say 
what the Bible says, not what superstition says.” 

The editor arose. “ Guess I’d better be getting 
down-stairs,” he said. ‘‘ Susanna was busy and I 
thought I’d run up to see you a minute. Expect 
she’s gone with a handsomer man by this time.” 

Wayne laughed. No danger of that. Para- 
graph. She is destined to assist the Star in twin- 
kling by becoming the helpmeet of its hustling edi- 
tor.” Then he added, apologetically, “ No offense 
meant, my friend.” 

“ Save your apologies. Parson. Didn’t I tell you 
one day that I was as willing as an office-seeker? 
I’ve courted that fair maiden ever since I have been 
big enough to comb my own hair, and though the 
altar has several times appeared as close as Jap 
Munson’s poorhouse, she has always side-tracked 


258 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

before reaching there. But I am not discouraged, 
and shall live in the hope of finally tacking ‘ M-r-s.’ 
before her name.^^ 

He went down the stairs and Wayne sat alone. 
His pipe was out, and he knocked the cold ashes 
from the bowl. Then he walked to the window and 
looked out. The sky was thickly studded with 
stars, and somewhere he heard the barking of a 
watch-dog. He remembered of that first night and 
his temptation to go away, and how an angel, in 
clinging robes of white with a sceptre of roses, had 
appeared in the moonlight and caused him to re- 
main. And even so had the impulse to run away 
come to him the present night, and the Cross had 
appeared in the darkness to remind him of duty. 
He looked toward the horizon, and,, though he knew 
the world was there throbbing, throbbing, it no 
longer called to him. 

Down-stairs Paragraph found Susanna in the 
parlor alone, and, though she pretended to be deeply 
engrossed in a book, he knew by the deeper bloom 
in her cheeks that she had heard and recognized his 
step. 

“ Ah, delightful is the fate that gives me the 
pleasure of your society undivided,’' he said, and 
bowed low as she looked up with fine pretense of 
being startled. 

“ Oh, it’s you, is it? ” she asked. 

Many times I fain would have denied that this 
personage was I, when creditors sought me with 
rows of figures on bits of paper, but standing in 


HALLOWE^EN 


259 


the presence of thee, fair one, I feel that my tongue 
is utterly incapable of expressing the joy that surges 
o’er me at the thought that it is indeed I who have 
this great good fortune. Again and again I con- 
fess, I proclaim, I insist that this is I who stands 
before you hungering for one bright smile from 
lips that shame the ruby, for one fond glance from 
eyes that render the diamond lustreless in compar- 
ison.” 

The girl broke into a merry peal of laughter. 
“ I had a scolding mapped out for you for staying 
up-stairs so long, but it would be useless to deliver 
the lecture. I would stand but a slim chance against 
a tongue like yours.” 

He sat down, and his chair appeared to creep 
closer and closer to where the girl sat rocking, the 
bloom still in her cheeks. The hour grew late, but 
the stilted speech flowed as readily as ever from the 
editor’s tongue. He believed in romance in woo- 
ing, and when Susanna gently chided him for his 
many figures of speech, he replied that he wanted 
to show the world how a courtship should be con- 
ducted. He held Jap Munson before her laughing 
eyes, and declared the candidate to be an example 
of the prosaic. 

'‘And now listen to Jap’s word juggling,” he 
said. He arose to his feet, swung his arm as though 
circling a blacksnake. " Pop ! Back in ’73 when 
silver was made the victim of an atrocious crime 
— you hear me ; you hear me ! ” Then after a 
pause he asked : “ And now. Blooming Rose, which 


260 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


do you prefer, the stilts or the rut?” And (who 
could blame her?) she chose the stilts. But when 
he implored her to name the day when they should 
wed, she hesitated. 

“ But I need a queen for my home. Or, rather, 
I need a queen and a home, for Jake Hausman’s 
hostelry is all that I can now call home. And think 
of the many subscriptions that would be mine could 
I but use loads of wood, barrels of potatoes and 
apples, and quarters of beef. That sounds prosaic, 
but even stilts need nails.” 

The clock in the adjoining room counted off a 
startling number of hours as Paragraph picked up 
his hat and started for the door. At the gate his 
horse stood stamping impatiently. 

“ Got that rig from the liveryman on subscrip- 
tion,” he said. 

She stood at the gate as he got into the buggy 
and gathered up the lines. 

'' Now no more postponements, Star Beam,” he 
said. “ On Hallowe’en we shall fly together.” 

“ But, Will, I really do not see the need of an 
elopement.” 

“ Sh-h-h ! The stilts or the rut. Remember Jap 
Munson.” 

She promised not to forget the candidate’s mat- 
rimonial experiences, and Paragraph drove away, 
and back to Susanna, standing at the gate wrapped 
in maiden dreams, there came floating: 

“ Oh, the moonlight’s fair to-night along the Wabash,” 


HALLOWE^EN 


261 


The days crept by with nothing to disturb the se- 
renity of life on the Wilson place. The Major had 
not yet sent the rock to be assayed. He was wait- 
ing, he said, for a move on the part of Ormand. 
The early frosts of October kissed the leaves into 
golden glory, and sent them in ever increasing 
numbers whirling towards the ground, to be caught 
up in the glee dance of the autumn wind and banked 
against the trees, the stumps, and the fence corners. 
Lorraine’s school had begun the winter term, and 
each morning Joe drove away with her in the buggy, 
and each evening he went after her. 

Wayne, returning from the fields one evening, 
found a strange buggy in front of the house, and 
as he approached he saw Jim Gordon standing at 
the gate with Lorraine. With head erect, the 
preacher walked on, but he had come up in the rear 
of Gordon, and it was evident that the latter was 
not aware of his approach as Wayne heard him 
raise his voice and say in sullen tone : “ Well, it 
was all right until he came here. But you wouldn’t 
have him about if you knew what I know. Ask 
him — ” 

Wayne saw Lorraine throw up her hand to 
silence Gordon, and the latter, hearing the preacher’s 
step, scowled darkly at him as he lifted his hat with 
a slight bow and strode past, his brain a seething 
whirl. 

I must bid you good evening, Mr. Gordon,” he 
heard the girl say, and a moment later he heard the 
sound of wheels and knew that Gordon had gone. 


262 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


Jap Munson's barn neared completion, and one 
day Jap mounted one of his work-horses, and rode 
around over the neighborhood, inviting old and 
young to his barn-warming. 

Coin' to have it on Hallowe’en," he said. “ The 
young folks always want to cut up high jinks on 
that night, and I’ll just corral ’em in my barn and 
let ’em go it.’’ 

It was a gay company that assembled in the new 
structure that night. The neighborhood fiddler was 
there, and after much tuning and retuning of his 
instrument he would dash off galloping strains of 
simple melodies. He took offense once because 
some one referred to him as a ‘‘ violinist.’’ He de- 
clared that violinists were made, but that fiddlers 
were bom. 

‘‘ Don’t want no prouder title than ‘ fiddler,’ ’’ 
he said. “ My daddy before me fiddled, and when 
I was a toddler he’d make me corn-stalk fiddles. 
I’m a fiddler.’’ Then, to show his proficiency, he 
tucked his instrument under his chin, and with a 
flourish set their feet to patting to the strains of 
“ Money Musk.’’ 

Joe was there, the shadow of Bess Craig. Lor- 
raine had gone over in the afternoon to help Mrs. 
Munson prepare for the event, and she intended 
remaining at Munson’s that night. Jim Gordon 
had come early, and was acting to perfection the 
part of a jolly young farmer. Paragraph and 
Susanna were also there, and while the editor kept 
the fun moving by his inexhaustible supply of wit 


HALLOWE'EN 


263 

and his ready declamation of bits of poetry, the 
girl sat shyly in a corner and blushed furiously 
whenever any of the neighborhood lasses attempted 
to tease her about “ her fellow.’’ Jap Munson, re- 
splendent in a white shirt that showed the creases 
made by his wife’s iron, was hopping about like a 
cricket, bobbing his red head and entreating every- 
body to tear down the barn if necessary in order 
to have a good time. To the surprise of all he 
banished politics. Multi-colored autumn leaves and 
gray corn-stalks, the latter with large ears pendent, 
were draped about the walls, while a dozen “ pump- 
kin faces,” with candles, grinned at the revelers 
from odd nooks and corners. Cider and apples, 
nuts and pop-corn, were there in lavish quantities, 
and no favors were pinned on to show that the guest 
had been once served with refreshments. 

All here, I guess, but the Parson,” said Jap. 
^‘Where’s Wayne?” 

Said he had to make a sick call and that he 
would be here later,” replied Paragraph. 

There were charades and songs, and then the fid- 
dler mounted an improvised platform, made two or 
three flourishes, and ran the scale. 

Partners for a waltz ! ” he shouted, and then 
the bow cut another scallop and called forth the first 
strain of “ Sweet Evalina.” 

Paragraph had sought Susanna’s side. “ We’ll 
wait until the evening’s half-gone and then we’ll 
fly to the altar,” he said. '' We can get back here 
in time to announce the wedding to the crowd at 


264 hearts and the CROSS 

midnight. That’s the time the weird things always 
happen.” He gave her hand a surreptitious squeeze 
and left her without explaining whether or not he 
classed their prospective wedding as weird. 

The strains of music became more vehement and 
the rough floor resounded with shuffling feet. A 
knock sounded, and Jap Munson danced excitedly 
to the door and opened it. Wayne stepped in. 

Guess you are lost at a dance, aren’t you. Par- 
son?” asked Paragraph. 

The preacher laughed. “ Not at all,” he said. 

The Methodist within me is horrified, but my 
Episcopal feet grow restless at waltz music.” A 
moment later he was gliding through the measures 
of the dance with Bess Craig. 

It was close to the midnight hour when Para- 
graph and Susanna, now Mrs. William Miller, were 
hastening back to the party at Munson’s. A Craig- 
ville minister had been awakened from his slumbers 
and had spoken the service for them. It was a 
scant two miles to Munson’s, and they had elected 
to walk the distance, taking a route that led across 
the fields and through the woods. The moon was 
hidden by a gray mass of clouds, but objects were 
readily distinguishable at short distances. Para- 
graph was rehearsing his announcement speech 
when Susanna suddenly clutched at his arm. 

Some one is coming,” she whispered, and 
pointed ahead to where a shadowy figure was seen 
crossing an open space. 

They drew back into the shadow of a clump of 


HALLOWE'EN 265 

bushes, and the man passed close by without de- 
tecting them. 

“ Jim Gordon,” said Paragraph, when the other 
was past, and was about to continue the journey 
when he muttered an exclamation and shrank back 
again. Another man was coming. He passed in 
the same manner, and then the elopers left their 
concealment and hastened towards the Munson 
place. 

“ That last was the Parson. The party must be 
breaking up,” he said. But when they neared Mun- 
son’s the sound of the fiddle was heard, and it was 
evident that the revelry had not ceased. 

Congratulations were showered on the bride and 
groom, and Paragraph declared that the elopement 
had been a grand success. “ No irate parent pur- 
sued with loaded weapons,” he said, ‘‘ but it was 
a good enough elopement anyhow. We dodged the 
rut.” 

“ Sorry the Parson ain’t here to make a speech,” 
said Munson, but I guess he’s gone.” Then he led 
Paragraph aside, and, after looking cautiously 
around, said in a low tone : “ Miller, the Parson 
and Jim Gordon are goin’ to have trouble sure. 
Don’t know what it’s about, but it’s cornin’. Pretty 
near had a row to-night. Gordon started it, I think. 
The Parson had been talkin’ to Lorry, and was just 
leavin’ her when Gordon, who’d been a-watchin’ 
’em like a cat does a mouse, stepped up to Wayne 
and said something to him. Don’t know what it 
was, but I saw the Parson get white around the lips 


266 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


all at once. He whirled on Gordon, and then 
seemed to catch himself, for he turned his back and 
walked away.’^ 

The notes of the organ were heard, and the com- 
pany united in singing a merry song of the season, 
a greeting to “ the witching hour,’^ but excited 
voices were heard without, and in a moment the 
door was flung open and a farmer boy rushed in, 
his face like ashes. 

‘‘ Don’t sing ! ” he shouted, and a sudden hush 
fell. Don’t sing! Jim Gordon’s been murdered ! ” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


WHEN THE BLOODHOUNDS CAME 

T he boy’s declaration that Jim Gordon had 
been murdered created wild excitement and 
dismay at the barn-party. Men crowded 
about the lad and pressed him for explanations, 
while white-faced women, horror in their eyes, hov- 
ered at the outside of the group. What had been 
a scene of revelry a few minutes before became now 
a place of awed memories. Gordon had been among 
them so recently, apparently as gay as the gayest, 
and now he had been ushered into eternity by the 
hand of an assassin. 

The boy’s story was brief. A party of coon hunt- 
ers had found Gordon lying in the woods not far 
from his home. His face was ghastly and blood 
was oozing from a knife-wound in his side. There 
were signs of a struggle having taken place, but it 
was evident that the blow had soon ended it. The 
rest of the party had formed a rude litter and car- 
ried Gordon home, while the boy had hurried to 
Munson’s to tell the news. 

The guests stood about the barn discussing the 
tragedy in low tones. During the evening’s pleas- 

267 


268 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


ures a number of autumn leaves had fallen from 
their places and now rustled under foot in an irri- 
tating way. The candles had burned low in the 
Jack-o'-lanterns, and some had sputtered and died 
out, leaving the pumpkin faces leering dismally at 
the murmuring groups, now fast dissolving. 

Once Munson’s eyes had met those of Paragraph 
squarely, and each read the terrible thoughts of the 
other. But through it all the candidate did not 
forget his duties as host, and he strove manfully to 
lighten the cloud that had settled over the assem- 
blage. And now he found an opportunity to speak 
to the editor. Touching him on the arm, he led the 
way to a corner away from the remaining guests. 
He looked straight into the editor’s eyes a moment. 

“ Look here. Miller,” he said, did you under- 
stand me to say that the Parson and Jim Gordon 
were going to have trouble?” His tone was 
freighted with earnestness, and one hand rested on 
Paragraph’s shoulder, while their eyes met. 

Miller shook his head. “ I don’t remember of 
you saying anything of the kind, Jap,” he replied, 
slowly. 

Munson grabbed the editor’s hand and gripped 
it. ''You’re true blue,” he said, huskily. "Some 
people would have misunderstood me. I didn’t men- 
tion their names at all, and I don’t remember just 
when they left here.” He turned away and then 
came back. "Wait until the others have gone, and 
then we’ll drive over to Gordon’s,” he added. 

Paragraph had already cautioned his bride to say 


THE BLOODHOUNDS 269 

nothing of what they had seen in the woods, and 
Susanna, bursting into tears, had vowed that no 
torture could wring from her a word that might 
weigh against Wayne. Lorraine had sat down, 
half-hidden by the organ, when the first news of 
the tragedy had come, and there she remained, dry- 
eyed, a deep pallor in her cheeks, replying in mono- 
syllables to those who spoke to her. Now that they 
had all gone, Mrs. Munson came to her. 

“ Let’s go to the house. Lorry,” she said, and the 
girl arose without a word and followed her. 

Munson put a horse to his buggy, and he and 
Paragraph started for Gordon’s, taking Susanna 
to the Wilson place on their way. They found 
lights flashing from the windows of the Gordon 
home, and in the yard lanterns were moving to and 
fro, showing that the countryside had been aroused 
by the bloody affair. They tied their horse to the 
fence and started up the walk, but a voice called to 
them and asked them to stop. Then a lantern 
flashed in their faces, and they saw that it was Bill 
Ward, the Craigville marshal. 

“ Don’t go too near the house just yet, boys,” 
said Ward, after shaking hands with them. The 
doctor says it ain’t best to have confusion.” 

“ The doctor ! ” exclaimed Paragraph. “ Why 
— why — what good — do you mean — ” 

He’s still alive,” said Ward, ending the other’s 
confusion. “ They thought he was gone, but he 
ain’t, though he’s precious near it.” 

Munson clutched the editor by the arm, and gave 


270 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

the limb a vise-like squeeze. “Any clue?^^ he 
asked, and held his breath while awaiting a reply. 

“Not a one. They found him lying there — 
dead they thought — and that’s all there is. I went 
all over the ground there on my hands and knees, 
but there was nothing to be found. I’ve sent to 
Riverside for bloodhounds, and in the morning I’ll 
see if the dogs can do any good. I put guards 
around the spot so a crowd wouldn’t spoil the 
trail.” 

“ Um-m, yes,” responded Munson, as though in 
deep thought. “ Going to stay around here all 
night. Ward?” 

“ Thought I’d hang around until a little before 
daylight and see how Gordon comes on. The fellow 
that owns the dogs will drive through, and he can’t 
reach Craigville much before sun-up. I promised 
I’d meet him there. When I go in I’ll let the guards 
go to bed, for there won’t be any one around at that 
hour to spoil the scent.” 

“ Why, certainly not, certainly not,” said Jap, 
with sudden alacrity. “No use keeping them chaps 
watchin’ a bare piece of ground just for fun. I’ll 
drive back home and tell the folks Gordon ain’t dead. 
Maybe I’ll be back before you leave. I’ll want to 
know about Jim.” 

The farmers who had assembled when the news 
of the tragedy had been flashed around were now 
leaving for their homes, yawning because of being 
aroused at such an unusual hour. The night was 
chilly, but Ward drew his overcoat tight about him, 


THE BLOODHOUNDS 


2'Jt 

and alternately stamped up and down the yard or 
sat down on the door-sill of the barn. 

“ Let’s take a drive,” said Munson to the editor, 
and in silence they untied the horse and got into the 
buggy. They drove down the road at a slow trot. 

Paragraph was the first to break the silence. “ I 
wonder where — ” He stopped in awkward con- 
fusion. 

You wonder where the Parson is?” queried 
Munson, and Miller murmured assent. 

“ I’m goin’ past Wilson’s,” said Munson, “ but 
I want you to stay with me awhile longer if you 
will.” 

Count me in to the last.” The occasion had a 
strangely quieting effect. Paragraph was no longer 
stilted, and Munson, the candidate, had given place 
to Munson, the deliberate. 

“ Whoa ! ” Munson suddenly tightened the lines, 
for a man had sprung over the fence into the road 
but a few feet ahead. 

“ It’s Wayne,” said Miller, bending forward and 
peering into the gloom. 

The man in the road evidently heard the words. 
“Yes, it’s I,” he said. “That you. Paragraph? 
I just heard about Gordon and was cutting across 
the fields to his home. You’ve been there, I sup- 
pose. Tell me about it.” 

He listened attentively to the brief account. “ I’ll 
go on,” he said. “ If he is dying my place is at his 
bedside.” 

When they arrived at Munson’s home Jap left 


2 72 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

Paragraph in the buggy while he went into the 
house. In a short time he returned, and again got 
into the buggy. 

“ Let’s go back and see Ward,” he said. But 
few words were exchanged on the return trip. 
Paragraph had not told his companion of seeing 
Wayne close behind Gordon in the woods, and in 
his own mind he was battling against conclusions 
that were forced upon him by the facts. 

They found Ward still stamping up and down 
the yard, but now he was alone. “ The crowd all 
put to bed when they found Gordon was alive. I’m 
precious glad of it, though. Think I’ll call in the 
guards and let them get some sleep, too.” He 
yawned as though he would be pleased to go to bed 
himself. 

“ Is he still alive ? ” asked the editor. 

“ Yes. The doctor come out awhile ago and said 
he had a fightin’ chance to pull through. That cut 
was a nasty one, though ; didn’t miss the heart very 
far, and landed in some place with a big long name. 
Seems like when a fellow gets hurt it’s always in a 
part we didn’t know he had before.” 

‘‘Did Wayne come over?” queried Munson. 

“ He’s in there now. Said that in a case of this 
kind a preacher belonged at the side of a doctor, 
so I told him to go on in. He seemed all upset 
over it.” 

Munson and Paragraph were silent, gazing at the 
window where a light shone bright, the other lights 
having been turned down. 


THE BLOODHOUNDS 


273 


“ That’s his room,” said the marshal, noting their 
gaze. “ Seems kind o’ solemn, don’t it, standin’ 
here, strong and well, and watchin’ a place where 
a man’s teeterin’ on the brink of eternity ? ” 

“Has Jim — said anything?” asked Munson, 
switching the ground with his buggy whip, and ig- 
noring the marshal’s observation. 

“ Nothing that could be understood. He mut- 
tered a little, though. The doctor said he wouldn’t 
let him say a word even if he was conscious and 
wanted to. He says a few words might steal all 
of his strength, and he’d rather take a chance of 
saving a man’s life than to trade his life for a chance 
of getting enough evidence to hang another man. 
I expect he’s right, but what Doc says will have to 
go, right or wrong. A man’s life outweighs the 
law every time.” 

They went into the kitchen and sat by the fire, 
discussing in low tones the events of the night, and 
Munson injected a vein of cheerfulness into the 
group by recounting the events of a recent political 
rally. After awhile Wayne came to them and said 
that Gordon was sleeping naturally and that his 
pulse was better. “ The doctor says that it’s a slim 
chance, though,” he added. The preacher’s face 
seemed gray and wan to Munson and the editor, 
who covertly scrutinized him closely. “ I’ll stay 
here a few hours longer,” he said, and turned away. 

Ward glanced out the window. The eastern sky 
had paled somewhat and a faint rosy tinge was per- 
ceptible. Out in the barn-yard a rooster crowed 


274 hearts and the CROSS 

noisily as though challenging his brothers to dis- 
pute that he had first detected the signs of dawn. 

That rooster’s right about it,” said the marshal, 
with a yawn. “ It’s ’most daylight. Them blood- 
hounds ought to be here soon. Guess I’ll go pull 
off the guards and let ’em eat a bite and get a wink 
of sleep before I start the chase. I suppose the 
sheriff ought to run this thing, but if he don’t, I 
will.” 

‘‘ If you’re goin’ over there now, I reckon Para- 
graph and I will go along,” said Munson. “ It’s 
only a little out of our way home, and I’d kind o’ 
like to see the place. I’ve got the derndest bump 
of curiosity you ever saw. Yes, sir. I’m a lump of 
curiosity bronzed on top.” He rubbed his red head 
as he spoke, and the editor glanced at him rather 
curiously, wondering what had caused Munson to 
begin drifting back into his old manner of speech. 

I don’t suppose there’s much to see, but I’ll be 
glad of your company, anyway,” replied Ward, lead- 
ing the way out to the horses. 

Course there ain’t much to see,” responded 
Munson. ‘‘ There ain’t much to see in a vacuum, 
either, but, I read in the papers that scientists are 
losing lots of sleep trying to find one. No, sir, 
there ain’t much to see over there, but my natural 
curiosity just compels me to go. Don’t believe I’d 
’a’ been a candidate if it hadn’t been for curiosity. 
I wanted to find out what mean things the other 
fellows could say about me.” 

Ward laughed and they drove away. They found 


THE BLOODHOUNDS 


275 


the guards stamping up and down to keep the chill 
out of their blood. The spot where the stabbing 
had taken place was not far from the road, and was 
in the edge of a little woods pasture. A tree had 
been felled close by, and it was very probable that 
the would-be assassin had concealed himself in the 
shadows of the tree-top and that he had sprung 
upon Gordon as he passed. The marshal dismissed 
the guards and then named an hour for them to 
assemble again at the same spot. 

“ If there’s any merit in a dog’s nose we’ll get the 
fellow,” said Ward, as Munson began plying him 
with questions prompted by his natural curiosity, 
as he declared. I’m goin’ to put the dogs around 
that tree-top first, and see if they don’t pick up some- 
thing there that can be worked out.” 

“ Well, if you need me just call on me,” said 
Munson. “ This is where our roads part, and I 
expect I’d better be gettin’ towards home. They’ll 
want to know about Gordon.” 

Count me in, too,” said Miller. 

“ All right, boys. I’m obliged. I’m sure. If I 
need help I’ll call on you. I’ll go on to town now 
and meet the dogs.” 

The two rigs started in opposite directions. Ob- 
jects were becoming distinguishable in the half- 
dawn, and the flush in the east had deepened. In 
half an hour it would be daylight. Munson and the 
editor drew their overcoats tighter about them- 
selves as the chill breeze bit at them. They drove 
a short distance in silence, Munson frequently turn- 


276 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

ing his head to look to the rear. Suddenly he 
veered the horse to the side of the road and began 
turning around. 

“Jap, what on earth are you going to do ? ’’ asked 
Paragraph. 

“ Goin’ back to that — place,” responded Mun- 
son, briefly. Then he added, “ I guess Ward’s far 
enough away.” 

“ And what do you intend to do back there ? ” 

“ I would give Ward a little more distance, but 
it’s goin’ to get light here too soon if I do,” said 
Jap, as though his companion had not spoken. He 
touched the horse with the whip and they were 
quickly whirled back over the road they had come. 
The editor noted the evasion and refrained from 
further questioning. 

“ You stay in the buggy and hold the lines — and 
keep a sharp lookout,” said Munson, as he drew up 
opposite the place where the deadly struggle had 
taken place but a few hours before. 

Without a word Miller took the lines, and then 
Munson sprang from the buggy and began climb- 
ing the fence. “ Better turn around, so we’ll be 
ready to light out in the right direction if you see 
any one coming.” Then he walked straight to the 
tree-top. 

“ Look out, Jap, or you’ll leave a trail, yourself, 
for the dogs,” called the editor, warningly. 

“ Then you think I’ll be successful, do you ? ” 
replied Munson, dryly, walking along by the side of 
the fallen tree. 


THE BLOODHOUNDS 


277 

“ Successful ! Jap, for God’s sake, you don’t 
mean — you don’t mean that — ” 

“ Never mind what I mean if it makes you stut- 
ter. If them dogs smell my feet maybe it’ll para- 
lyze ’em on the spot.” He chuckled in his old way, 
and then grew serious, as he added : “If they suc- 
ceed in trailing me I can soon prove an alibi — and 
maybe some one else can’t if they trail him.” 

Jap, you’re a diamond, if there ever was one on 
two legs,” said Miller, enthusiastically, but Munson 
continued tramping around the vicinity where Gor- 
don had been found, and as he walked he kept div- 
ing his hand into a little sack, and then scattering 
something behind him. 

“ Well, I don’t intend to give them hounds any 
fun if this cayenne pepper will spoil their smelling- 
bee,” replied Munson, scattering the pepper freely. 
“ I guess this battle-ground’s pretty well warmed 
up now, so I’ll lead off down along the fence. I’ll 
get into the buggy farther down.” He walked 
away from the place, scattering the pepper in his 
tracks, and when some distance from the spot where 
the struggle had occurred he climbed the fence once 
more and entered the buggy. 

“ Good thing I had a lot of cayenne pepper in the 
house,” he said. “ Wife’s been givin’ it to Johnny 
for the rheumatiz, but Bub will have to go it stiff- 
legged until I get some more.” 

“ And that was what you went to the house for, 
I was it?” asked Miller, slapping Munson on the 
: shoulder. 


2 78 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

Well, Paragraph, something had to be done. 
Pm strong for the law, myself, but I just couldn't 
let ’em capture — him without tryin’ to save him. 
I don’t know what took place over there by that tree 
at midnight, but I know that Gordon was mighty 
insolent towards him before they left the house. 1 
don’t believe in this knife business, but it ain’t for 
me to judge his provocation.” 

“ It wouldn’t help Gordon any for them to cap- 
ture — him,” added the editor, anxious to add his 
voice to the apology for scheming against the 
law. 

Glad you’re stickin’ to me,” said Munson. “ I 
just couldn’t let ’em trail — him. I hope that pep- 
per and my strolling will fool ’em, but them dogs 
are tough propositions.” 

Paragraph got out at the Wilson place and Mun- 
son drove on home. The sun had not yet looked 
over the horizon, but the editor found the Wilson 
family astir when he entered the house, and it was 
evident that sleep had not rested long on the eyes 
of any member of the household. Susanna came 
forward shyly to greet her husband, whom she had 
scarcely seen since they made their wedding jour- 
ney on foot from the minister’s house back to Mun- 
son’s barn-warming. The editor noted the subdued 
manner of those about him and resolved to dispel 
the gloom of the tragedy if possible. In this emer- 
gency he had recourse to his “ stilts.” 

“ A blithe morning, gentle folks,” he said, cheer- 
ily, with one of his most profound bows. “ The 


THE BLOODHOUNDS 


279 


vagabond of the shears and paste-pot who stole 
from you this fair one standing at my side, blushing 
and rosy as the clouds that have heralded the ris- 
ing sun, now returns to beg thy gracious forgive- 
ness. ^Twas elopement or the rut — and we feared 
the rut.” 

“ William,” said the old man, kindly, as they 
greeted him, “ we all congratulate you, as we have 
already said to your bride. No man should be mar- 
ried more than once, and he should be married that 
once in his own way, so you need make no apolo- 
gies. But tell us of Gordon.” 

The editor gave an account of the wounded man’s 
condition, and then told of the arrangements made 
to put the bloodhounds on the trail of Gordon’s 
assailant. Purposely he drew a graphic word pic- 
ture of the preparations for the man hunt, and ex- 
pressed the strong conviction that the dogs would 
speedily run down the one who struck the blow. 
As he talked he noted with keen eyes the eager 
manner in which Lorraine drank in his words. He 
saw her clasp her hands suddenly as he spoke of the 
coming of the bloodhounds, and then — was he mis- 
taken or did her cheeks grow ashen and a look, 
half-horror, half-appeal, steal into her eyes as he 
declared that the man would undoubtedly be cap- 
tured ? 

“ I was just getting ready to start over to Gor- 
don’s,” said Joe, who had stood a silent listener. 
“ I drove into town with Bess Craig, and on my 
way out stopped at Munson’s, Lorraine wanted to 


28 o hearts and the CROSS 


come home, so I brought her over. That’s the rea- 
son I haven’t been with you.” 

“ Have they any clue? ” asked Lorraine, and her 
voice trembled slightly. 

Miller shook his head. Gordon hasn’t spoken 
intelligibly yet, and the doctor says he must not 
talk when he becomes rational. His life is just this 
way.” He balanced a lead-pencil on one finger. 
“ On this side is life ; on that side, death, and the 
exertion of making a statement might tilt the 
scales.” 

'' Then it all depends on the dogs ? ” she asked. 

“ It does — until he gets strong enough to talk.” 

She stood at the window a moment, and the first 
beams of the rising sun peeped in and caressed her 
face. As she stood thus in the glow of the sunrise 
the editor saw a tear steal from her eye and trace 
a pathway of sadness on her cheek. She brushed it 
away and turned again to the editor. 

‘‘ Did you see — Mr. Wayne ? ” 

‘‘ He’s there at Gordon’s bedside,” he replied. 

She turned once more to the sunrise, and stood 
silent, and, beckoning to Susanna, he slipped from 
the room and left her alone. An hour later Ward, 
the marshal, accompanied by half a dozen men who 
had been summoned as a posse, drove to the scene 
of the tragedy. In the buggy with Ward sat a 
stranger, and at their feet crouched two powerful 
bloodhounds. 

“ It will be hard work,” said the stranger, “ ow- 
ing to the fact that others have been on the ground 


THE BLOODHOUNDS 281 

— for instance, the men who found him — but if 
there’s a trail to be found these dogs will pick it 
up.” 

Miller, Joe, and Munson were on hand when the 
men and hounds reached the spot. The hounds 
leaped from the buggy when Ward drove up to the 
fence, but the stranger held the long chains with 
firm hands, and the animals contented themselves 
with running about in a circle, straining at their 
leashes with their noses to the ground. A little 
group of men had assembled to witness the begin- 
ning of the chase, but as the savage-looking dogs 
leaped and plunged about with much growling and 
showing of teeth, there was a general skedaddle, 
fence-posts becoming occupied in a remarkably 
short space of time. 

“ Pretty likely looking set of dogs,” remarked 
Munson, surveying the animals critically. 

Ah-h-h ! ” It was a half-smothered exclamation 
from Paragraph. He was gazing intently at the 
hounds. They had been led to the side of the fallen 
tree, and, after industriously sniffing at the ground 
for a moment, one had given a sharp yelp and darted 
forward, nose near the ground, the strong collar 
and chain alone preventing the dog from breaking 
into a run. Almost at the same instant the other 
hound gave tongue and bounded along in the rear 
of its mate, also with nose to the ground. 

They’ve struck a trail ! ” ‘‘ They’ve struck a 

trail ! ” came in a chorus from the spectators 
perched on the fence-posts, and some of them even 


282 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


became so enthusiastic as to carefully descend, 
showing the greatest respect for the barbed wire 
composing the fence, and venture nearer the 
hounds. 

“ The dogs are winners ! They’ve got a warm 
trail ! ” exclaimed Joe, enthusiastically. 

“ But the trail may prove too hot,” murmured 
Munson so softly that none but Paragraph heard. 

Along the side of the tree the dogs fairly dragged 
the keeper, and then where the branches spread wide 
they circled about, darting away from the tree for a 
distance and then returning. 

“ You’ve failed, Jap,” whispered Miller, and the 
little man, with his usually ruddy face pale, stood 
silent. 

The dogs once more gave sharp yelps, and this 
time they led away from the tree straight for the 
spot where a stick in the ground marked the place 
of the struggle. In a moment they had reached the 
spot, and here they again paused. There was a 
groan from Munson as the hounds led away from 
the spot, led directly back into the woods and in the 
direction of the Wilson place. 

“ He must have hurried straight home in an effort 
for an alibi,” said the editor in a lone tone, Joe hav- 
ing followed closer after the dogs. 

“ It looks that way,” said Munson, gloomily. 
“ But look ! The dogs are acting queer ! ” 

It was true. As the hounds trailed away from 
the spot where the fight had taken place they went 
more slowly than before, and the leash chains hung 


THE BLOODHOUNDS 283 

slack. Then one faltered and paused, his muzzle 
in the air, but the other kept on. In a moment the 
one that had paused went forward again, but the 
progress was brief. The leading dog was now at 
a standstill. 

“ Good dog ! Good dog ! Go trail ! Go trail ! 
Hi-i-i-00 ! ’’ The voice of the trainer sounded en- 
couragingly, and the rallying cry was given with 
emphasis, but the dogs only whined a response. 
Once more “ Hi-i-i-00 ! ” came from the trainer’s 
lips, and the animals put their noses to the ground 
and forged forward a few steps in an uncertain way. 
Then they stopped again, and, whining, began claw- 
ing at their noses. 

What does it mean? ” asked Ward, anxiously. 

The trainer knelt beside his charges and exam- 
ined their noses. Then he looked up and flung out 
a curse. 

“ It means cayenne pepper, that’s what ! ” he 
exclaimed. And Munson turned his back and softly 
whistled a few bars of a rollicking jig, while Para- 
graph was suddenly seized with a fit of coughing. 

The trainer sent for water, and, after thoroughly 
washing the noses of his man-trailers, he set them 
again to their task, but this time they went but a 
few feet until they again paused and began claw- 
ing at their noses. 

‘‘ Their noses are becoming inflamed now, and 
about one more trial will put them out of the trail- 
ing business for to-day,” said Jap in a low tone to 
the editor, and then added : “ I was suspicious of 


284 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

that direction, and most of Johnny’s rheumatiz 
medicine is lying along that route.” 

Paragraph wanted to seize the farmer in his arms 
and give him a hug of admiration, but he simply 
looked his pleasure, and then walked up to where 
the dogs were making gallant attempts to follow 
the trail. But Munson had sown the pepper broad- 
cast and thick, and had been lucky enough to get 
goodly quantities right where it was most needed. 

It’s no use,” the trainer said at last. “ The 
dogs’ noses are raw as a piece of beefsteak, and 
they can’t do any more work. That fellow has beat 
the best pair of hounds in Indiana.” 

“Can’t they work to-morrow?” queried the 
marshal, anxiously. 

“ It will be too late. Thirty-six hours this time 
of year means failure for dogs.” 

“ But maybe I could get other dogs and keep at 
it to-day,” said Ward, desperately. 

“ Good hounds are scarce,” replied the trainer, 
bathing the noses of his whining dogs. “ You 
couldn’t get a pair here for several hours — and 
then they’d get against the same thing these have. 
It’s no use, I tell you. If you catch that fellow 
you’ll have to do it some other way.” 

The fence-post audience had left their havens of 
retreat and crowded about the dogs, offering nu- 
merous suggestions, all of which the trainer re- 
ceived in contemptuous silence. 

“ Tracking rabbits is different from tracking 
men,” he said, at last, in reply to some one’s elab- 


THE BLOODHOUNDS 285 

orate statements as to how he successfully tracked 
rabbits, and the man admitted that there was no 
doubt some difference, but that the principle was 
the same. 

The dogs were placed in the buggy, and Ward, 
buried deep in his overcoat, took up the lines to 
drive away. 

“Mr. Ward ! ” shouted Munson. “If you need 
any help let me know at once.” 

“ And count me in, too,” said Miller, and the 
marshal once more thanked them for their zeal in 
assisting the officers of the law. 

Munson, Miller, and Joe got into Munson’s 
buggy. “ I’ll take you into town. Paragraph,” said 
the little man. “ That fellow speakin’ about cay- 
enne pepper just reminds me that I must buy some 
for Johnny’s rheumatiz. We’re clear out of it.” 
He clucked to the horse and asked Joe if he had 
heard anything new in a political way. And by that 
token the editor knew that Munson’s mind was at 
ease. 

That same morning a man entered the telegraph- 
office at Craigville and handed the operator a mes- 
sage addressed to “ Mr. John Ormand, Riverside.” 
The message read: 

“ Gordon knifed last night. Still alive.” 

The message was signed “ A Friend,” but if 
Paragraph had seen him he would have recognized 
him as the man whom Marshal Ward had “ inter- 


286 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 


viewed ” because of his having spoken harshly of 
Wayne. 

It was afternoon when the preacher returned 
from his vigil at Gordon’s bedside. Loss of sleep 
had left its impress upon him and he looked hag- 
gard and hollow-eyed, but as he opened the door 
he stood face to face with Lorraine, and a tinge of 
color came to his cheeks. 

'' I thought you were at school,” he said, bowing 
to her. 

She laughed in a strained manner, and no mirth 
was in her tones. “ You must consult the family 
almanac,” she said. This is Saturday.” 

He passed his hand before his eyes in a puzzled 
way, as though endeavoring to arouse himself. 

‘‘ Saturday? ” he repeated, after a pause. “ And 
was it only last night that we danced in the barn? 
And was it but these few hours ago that you sang? 
I hear the words now; they are beating on my 
wearied brain ceaselessly. And it was only last 
night!” 

He sank into a chair, and the hand that brushed 
back the hair from his brow trembled. 

How weary you are,” she said, softly. 

He looked up. ‘‘ You must pardon my weak- 
ness. I — but you are right. I am weary — 
weary.” His head drooped and he no longer looked 
into her face. 

‘‘ And what of — Mr. Gordon ? ” 

I left him asleep. The doctor says his hurt is 


THE BLOODHOUNDS 287 

less serious than was at first thought. The knife- 
blade barely missed a vital spot.’^ 

“ Then he will recover? ” There was a note of 
joyousness in her voice that did not escape the man 
in the chair, and he looked up quickly. 

“ Perhaps — though his condition is yet critical.” 

“ And has he spoken? ” 

The preacher hesitated. “Not of the affair in 
the woods,” he said. 

“ And he has whispered no names ? ” 

Wayne slowly arose, his hat in hand, and stood 
for a moment with his shoulders squared and head 
erect, looking full into her eyes. 

“ Yes,” he said, “ he murmured a name over and 
over, and when we bent low to catch the word it 
came to us in broken syllables — ‘ Lor-raine ! ' 
‘ Lor-raine ! ’ ” He turned and walked away, but 
she called to him, and he paused. 

“ And was there — no — other ? ” she asked, 
and her hands were clasped as if in prayer. 

He shook his head. “ There was no other,” he 
answered, his voice lowered, and as the glad look 
leaped again to her eyes he turned away once more 
and left her. 

She stood looking after him a moment, her hands 
still clasped, and then she suddenly dropped to her 
knees and alternately laughed and cried. 

“ Thank God ! Thank God ! ” she sobbed. “ It 
was my name he spoke! The bloodhounds have 
failed, and he has not given the name. Oh, God is 
good ! God is merciful ! ” 


288 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

That afternoon a carriage drove up to the Gordon 
home and John Ormand sprang out, and, leaving 
the driver to care for the team, he hastily ran up 
the walk and knocked at the door. He introduced 
himself and was admitted. Then he asked to see 
the doctor, explaining that his business was urgent. 
The physician, who was still on duty in the sick- 
room, came to him, and Ormand, pacing nervously 
up and down the room, asked permission to see 
Gordon. 

‘‘ It is impossible,” responded the physician. 

Ormand paused in his limping pace and fixed his 
cold eyes on the physician. 

‘‘ I tell you I must I ” 

The physician shook his head. ‘‘ I must be firm, 
Mr. Ormand,” he replied. “ Gordon is conscious 
now, and has tried once or twice to speak, but I 
have hushed him each time.” 

The promoter was silent a moment. Then his 
restless eyes noted a peculiar watch-charm worn 
by the other. A gleam of satisfaction shone in his 
eyes as he looked the physician full in the face and 
murmured a few words, at the same time making 
a sign with his hand. A look of surprise was evi- 
dent on the doctor’s face, and he hesitated a mo- 
ment, and then slowly raised his hand and made an 
answering signal. Ormand’s hand was outstretched, 
and the physician reached forward and grasped it, 
the promoter’s fingers closing over the other’s in a 
peculiar grip. 


THE BLOOD HO UNDS 289 

“ I tell you I must I '' he repeated, and again the 
physician felt the peculiar grip. 

“Your business cannot wait?’^ he asked, en- 
deavoring to withdraw his hand. 

“ It cannot.’' 

“ But his life or death may depend on my de- 
cision.” 

“ If I can have five minutes with him, I can aid 
your skill by stimulating his will-power by adding 
an incentive for life.” 

The physician hesitated. His hand was free 
now. “ I am afraid I must decline to — ” he be- 
gan, but Ormand leaned forward and took the 
watch-charm between his fingers, and then fastened 
his eyes on those of the doctor. 

“ Do you mean to say that you repudiate this ? ” 
he interrupted. 

The other stood silent. “ No,” he said at last. 
“ I cannot do that. You may see him.” 

For an instant the gold shone in Ormand’s teeth 
as his thin lips were drawn back in a fleeting smile. 
“ Alone ? ” he asked. 

“ If you so will it.” 

“ You are very kind. I must request that it be 
so.” 

The physician was now pacing the room as Or- 
mand had done. “ I feel that I am jeopardizing 
the man’s life,” he said, “ but you say you can add 
an incentive for him to live. If that be so it will 
be a help. I cannot forget my oath — but (he 
stopped suddenly, confronting the promoter) you 


290 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

will make your stay in the room brief, will you 
not?” 

“You say he is conscious?” asked Ormand. 

“ Perfectly rational at present,” was the reply. 

“ Then five minutes is all I ask.” 

“ I will announce you,” said the physician, and 
led the way to Gordon’s room. He left the pro- 
moter in the hallway a moment, but soon returned. 

“ Go in at once,” he said, and then, holding up 
the emblem-charm, he added : “In the name of this 
I beg that you withdraw quickly.” 

Ormand bowed and stepped within the room, clos- 
ing the door behind him. The physician stood in 
the hallway, watch in hand, and anxiously watched 
the time. The minutes passed, and there was no 
sound from within. Three minutes, and still no 
sign. The hand on the watch-dial slowly crept past 
the four-minute point, but scarcely had it done so 
when the door opened and the promoter came out. 
The watch snapped, and was dropped back into a 
pocket, and a sigh of relief escaped the doctor’s lips. 

“ Am I on time ? ” asked Ormand. 

“ With a half-minute to spare,” was the reply. 

Again Ormand’s lips receded from his teeth, dis- 
playing the gold that punctuated their snowy white- 
ness. 

“ Let your mind be easy,” he said. “ I am not a 
physician, but I declare to you that Jim Gordon will 
live.” 


CHAPTER XV. 


CLOSING THE CAMPAIGN 

T he Presidential election was at hand and 
Willow Township was aflame with politics, 
the Dunkards alone pursuing their usual 
avocations undisturbed by the ebb and flow of po- 
litical oratory. The attempt on Jim Gordon’s life 
was discussed only as a truce when political word 
wars became so hot that each side was willing to 
retire from the conflict. 

Jap Munson fairly flew around over the town- 
ship, and oftentimes his voice was heard in two or 
more meetings in different precincts on the same 
night. Always he urged loyal support of the 
national ticket, but the burden of his homely elo- 
quence was a plea for his own election. 

The poorhouse is just over the hill,” he said, 
‘‘ and a President won’t look after you if it becomes 
your fate to go there. It’s the trustee that wipes 
your tears away, that builds your fires, and puts 
school-boc4cs into the hands of your children.” 

The question of a subsidy for the electric line 
represented by John Ormand was also to be settled 
at this election, and this added steam to the pressure 
291 


292 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

under which Willow Township people were living. 
The Craigville Star had entered into the campaign 
with vigor. It discreetly refrained from taking 
sides on the political questions, but on the question 
of subsidy it delivered broadsides, and column after 
column of editorials plowed their way through the 
rapidly thinning ranks of the advocates of the sub- 
sidy. The influence of the Star had made itself 
felt, and Ormand's counselors determined to try 
the power of money on the young editor. Ormand 
had not forgotten an experience he had with Miller 
in the oflice of the Riverside Sun, so he was not 
sanguine of success, but as one of his lieutenants 
was eager to try the experiment he gave his consent, 
and on the day following the would-be briber stepped 
from the train in Craigville. He had no difliculty 
in finding the Star office, for next to that of the 
Tyler House, the Star sign was the largest and 
most conspicuous in the town. 

The stranger found Paragraph busily engaged at 
his desk, and began a discussion of the hard work 
and meagre pay of a country editor. Paragraph 
eyed him keenly, regarding his great interest in 
country editors as cause for suspicion. 

Candidate for anything? ’’ he asked, abruptly. 

The stranger laughed. “ I have no desire for 
office,” he replied. 

Maybe your friends are forcing you to run. 
That’s the way most of them talk.” 

“ My friends are not that sort. If I should catch 
a man too deeply interested in my welfare I would 


CLOSING THE CAMPAIGN 293 

at once gamble that he had some irons of his own 
that he wanted heated. I’m a cynic, I suppose.” 

“ Perhaps I am, also,” replied Miller, putting his 
feet on his desk and tilting back his chair. “ In 
fact, if you are I must be, for I thought that a man 
with such an interest as you have displayed in coun- 
try editors must have a few irons that he wanted 
warmed. Country editors sometimes play the part 
of a bellows.” 

The stranger bit his lip and looked vexed. “ My 
interest arises from the fact that I was once a 
newspaper man, and, naturally, I have a fellow 
feeling for the men who wield the pen.” 

“ Um-m-m, yes. No doubt. And now, probably, 
you are an > advance agent for a theatrical com- 
pany.” 

“ Nothing of the kind. I am a lawyer.” 

The editor smiled. Pardon my mistake,” he 
said. “ It was a natural one, I assure you. Every 
show agent on the road assaults the editors with 
the sympathetic statement that they were formerly 
newspaper men. It’s a pretty good graft, and wins 
extra space in a lot of papers.” 

“ I have noticed several copies of the Star, and in 
a great many newspaper offices I hear it well spoken 
of,” suavely replied the visitor, ignoring Para- 
graph’s sarcasm. 

The editor’s eyes narrowed, but he made no re- 
ply. He waited. 

‘‘ I hear the Star's vigorous editorials discussed 
quite often,” continued the stranger. 


294 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

“ Yes/’ said the editor, tapping his chin reflect- 
ively with his pencil. I am well supplied with 
opinions.” 

“ Quite so, quite so,” was the response. But do 
your opinions find a good market? ” 

‘‘ Without opinions a man is but a dry husk, rat- 
tling weakly as the winds toss him this way or that. 
With opinions a man shouts into the funnel of the 
world ; without opinions he becomes a human 
phonograph, whining out the thoughts and ideas 
that the master minds have spoken into the fun- 
nel.” 

“ But is there not a better market for phono- 
graphs than for shouters? ” 

The editor looked steadily at the other for a mo- 
ment. “ Look here,” he said at last. “ I ignored 
your first remark concerning a market for opinions, 
thinking it might have no significance, but you seem 
determined to press the idea.” 

The stranger nodded. “ Yes,” he said, “ I be- 
lieve I have insisted on the point. You see, being 
an ex-editor, I have a sympathy for the men who 
still toil with their brains for clods who are inca- 
pable of appreciation of the editor’s expenditure of 
intellect in their behalf, and who will only jeer at 
the editor when the sheriff nails his placards on the 
door.” 

“ The newspaper office is the womb of progress 
and enlightenment,” replied Paragraph, and the 
blessings that are born to the world are the editor’s 
children. Surely pride in the children is sufficient 


CLOSING THE CAMPAIGN 295 

recompense for the pains and sorrows attendant 
upon birth.” 

But there are men who are willing to pay for 
assistance in certain projects while the editor is 
launching his ‘ children ' on their career.” 

And now, no doubt, you are coming to the ob- 
ject of your visit! ” 

I can lighten your burden considerably and 
make it worth your while to — ” 

The editor’s feet came down off the desk with a 
bang, and a quick gesture caused the visitor to 
pause. Paragraph rose to his feet, his face flushed 
and with his hands clenched. 

Don’t say any more,” he said, and his voice 
was not even. One time a man tried to buy me, 
but before he got through with his proposition a 
storm got loose in my head, and when I got a grip 
on my anchor chains again the fellow had fallen 
through the door and hurt himself some. Now you 
had better go as my head feels a little warm.” 

“ But you haven’t heard my proposition. I rep- 
resent — ” 

“ You represent the devil in one of his many 
forms — I don’t care which one. I don’t want to 
hear your proposition. Can’t you see that I am 
trying to control myself? It isn’t far to the door. 
Get to it quickly.” 

“ So you threaten me ! ” 

“ No, I only warn you. Now go! ” The editor 
pointed to the door, and the stranger hesitated a 
moment, and then, picking up his hat, he walked 


296 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

quickly to the door, and without a word passed 
down the stairs. 

The next issue of the Star was more vigorous 
than ever in its opposition to the subsidy, and it 
was almost a certainty that if an electric railway 
came through Willow Township it would not be 
constructed on money dipped out of the pockets 
of the taxpayers of that township. Wayne had de- 
clared his intention of keeping clear of politics, but 
as the climax of the campaign approached he found 
it more and more difficult to remain neutral. 

There ain’t no such thing as ^ neutral ’ in pol- 
itics,” declared Munson, when the preacher had con- 
fessed his troubles on that score. “ A man’s just 
naturally bound to whoop it up for one side or the 
other. You hear me? You hear mef Just natu- 
rally bound to.” 

Wayne laughed and said he believed Jap was 
right. And that afternoon as the preacher was re- 
pairing a fence a buggy stopped beside him, and a 
cheery voice hailed him. He looked up and saw 
a sharp- featured man with clear blue-gray eyes 
clambering out of the vehicle. It was Dickson, the 
lawyer, Dickson, the candidate for representative. 
Their hands met in hearty clasp, and the lawyer 
squeezed the preacher’s fingers until the latter 
begged him to stop. 

“ Beg your pardon. Parson,” said the other, 
laughing. “ That shows the force of habit. Why, 
for weeks and weeks I’ve been romping up and 
down the highways and byways and through the 


CLOSING THE CAMPAIGN 297 

hedges cracking fingers. It’s a fine art in the world 
of politics. A man may be a lop-eared scoundrel, 
and everybody may know it, but if he can crack their 
fingers in a hand-shake, two-thirds of his enemies 
will allow that he’s a pretty good fellow.” 

“ And I’m your latest victim,” said Wayne. 

Dickson sobered down. “ I’m asking pardon, 
Mr. Wayne, for I didn’t mean to woo you with a 
hand-shake. You were a victim of habit — and of 
sincerity.” 

“ All right,” replied the preacher, but tell me 
the news. Of course I get the papers here, but it’s 
not like mingling with the world. It’s something 
like witnessing a play without scenic effects or cos- 
tumes.” 

Dickson drew a cigar from his pocket and bit the 
end off. Then he fished in his pocket for a match, 
and it was not until the tiny smoke-wreaths were 
curling up that he spoke. 

“ You want the news, eh? Well, I’m going to be 
elected. No doubt that is news, and I’ll bet there 
are hundreds of people in Tyler County who would 
call it bad news. That’s all the news I know, for a 
candidate must be like a horse if he expects to win 
— he must have only one idea in his head. And 
that idea must be in regard to his election.” 

Wayne made no reply, and the lawyer puffed 
meditatively at his cigar a moment. Then he looked 
at the preacher, and as he took the cigar from his 
mouth there was a suspicion of a sound in his throat, 
as though he had choked a word that had sought to 


298 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

reach his lips. He bit the end of the cigar nerv- 
ously, and then suddenly turned to the preacher. 

“ Look here, Wayne, Fve come down here to talk 
you into doing me a favor. Now just wait a min- 
ute (as the preacher was about to speak). I’ve got 
a lot of respect for the ‘ cloth,’ meaning a minister, 
even if the ‘ cloth ’ is blue overalls, and I don’t want 
you to rush into any promises. The favor I want 
is no small one. In fact, I want you to make a 
speech for me.” 

Dickson rammed his hands into his pockets and 
leaned against the fence-post as though resigned 
to meet some sad fate. Wayne stared at him a 
moment. 

“ But, Dickson, you know that I’ve been neutral 
during this affair, and I suppose I should continue 
that way.” 

“ Neutral, fiddlesticks! There is no neutrality in 
politics.” 

The preacher laughed. Almost Munson’s exact 
words,” he said. 

They’re true, anyway. If you want to make a 
foothold for yourself in Indiana do something in 
politics. You probably would not care to buy a 
vote nor shanghai a float, but — ” 

Shanghai a Hoatl ” 

‘‘Yes — dope a vote-seller with whiskey, and 
then lock him up in a secret room until election 
day, or load him in a box car and ship him out of 
town the night before election.” 


CLOSING THE CAMPAIGN 299 

“ I don’t think I care to become entangled in such 
practices,” said Wayne, frowning. 

“ Of course you don’t, though it’s one of the tricks 
of the trade in Indiana, but you can make a speech. 
I haven’t heard you, but I have heard of you, and I 
want you to go on the platform for me. Just once 
is all I ask, and this is a case of emergency. There 
will be a big rally in Riverside the night before 
election, and the chap who was to make the speech 
is down sick. All of the regular speakers are dated, 
and I’ve got to hustle for a speaker.” 

Wayne whistled a long-drawn note, and Dickson 
continued hastily : “ I know it’s asking much of 

you, but I am on the rocks, and if you don’t throw 
me a life-line I’m liable to be battered to pieces in 
sight of shore. I won’t offer you money for fear 
you’d use me like you did that mad dog, but if 
you’ll do this for me the night will never be too 
dark nor the day too cold for me to do you a serv- 
ice.” 

‘‘ I’ll do it,” said Wayne, after a moment’s pause. 

Sometimes I wabble a little in my views of a 
preacher’s duty, privileges, and sphere, but — ” 

'' That’s human,” said Dickson. 

Yes, I suppose it’s human,” was Wayne’s re- 
sponse. Then he added : And I’ve been human 
all of my life.” He looked away across the fields, 
sombre and gray, with shocks of corn standing like 
Indian tepees here and there. In the distance a 
fringe of bare-limbed timber marked the course of 
the Wabash, and he thought of how the heat had 


300 //BARTS AND THE CROSS 

frolicked across those fields and over those wood- 
lands when first he had come to this place. He 
thought of the temptations, of the struggles that had 
been his, and of how the mists of weakness had 
often veiled the Cross. “ Yes, Fve been human 
always,’' he said. 

There was a suspicion of self-reproach in his tone 
that did not escape the sharp ear of the lawyer, and 
he laid his hand on the preacher’s shoulder. 

“ Never mind,” he said, kindly. The man who 
is worthy of victory gets up every time he stubs 
his toe and falls. The last time I saw my old mother 
alive she placed her hand on my head and said: 

‘ Dave, my son, you are going out into the world 
to struggle with the problems of life. Remember 
that you are human, not that you may excuse weak- 
ness, but that you may not become discouraged if 
you stumble. Do not smother your conscience and 
you will not lose God.’ I’ve never forgotten those 
words. We may ‘ wabble,’ as you term it, but if we 
have followed conscience we have lived up to our 
moral sphere.” 

They shook hands and parted, and Wayne turned 
once more to his labors, but his heart was heavy 
and his head was aching with the turmoil of 
thoughts that were rioting in his brain. That night 
he sought his room early, as was his custom of late, 
and to the family below a faint fragrance of tobacco 
was borne. The preacher was cremating the past. 

And his sleep was broken by strange fancies. He 
saw a girl standing in the moonlight, a girl with a 


CLOSING THE CAMPAIGN 301 

sceptre of roses in her hand. He saw her press 
something to her lips, and then, holding it before 
her, she began plucking the roses from her sceptre 
and weaving them into a garland with which she 
surrounded that which she had pressed to her lips. 
The dreamer bent closer and saw that she held a 
photograph, and on its back was an old song. And 
was the picture a mirror that it should reflect the 
image of she who held it? But he saw that there 
was a difference, as though the mirror did not re- 
flect true the curves, the tilt of the chin. The 
faces were the same — and yet they were different. 
Still closer he leaned — and awoke. The moon- 
light was streaming in at the window, and in its 
silvery flood stood Joe. In his eyes a deep sadness 
was mirrored, and in his hand he held before him 
a bit of lace — a handkerchief. 

The day of the final political rally in Riverside 
arrived, and in the afternoon Joe and Wayne drove 
into Craigville, the latter to take the train for River- 
side, and the former to return home with the horse 
and buggy. The sky was overcast with clouds and 
a raw wind blew from out of the northwest. The 
grass was dead at the roadside; they heard the 
- shouts of a group of boys gathering walnuts ; a 
pawpaw-tree, standing close beside the road, was 
drooping with its load of fruit now fast ripening 
under the kiss of the frost; a crow cawed from 
the skeleton limb of an old oak. 

“ A genuine Hoosier fall day,” said Joe. 


302 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

“ Well, it’s gloomy enough,” replied Wayne, 
tucking the robe tighter about him. 

Gloomy, perhaps, but restful. There is an inde- 
finable something about it that I love. You may 
tell me of the poetry of the Southland, but a fall 
day in Indiana with all of its sweet sadness strikes 
a strange chord in my bosom that — Whoa ! ” 
What’s the matter? ” 

Joe pointed to a rail fence separating the wood- 
land from the corn-field. ‘‘ The poetry of Indiana 
— that fence,” he said. “ I spoke of it once before, 
but I never pass it without an impulse to take my 
hat off and bow to that remnant of happy days. 
It’s a decaying memory zigzagging back to my 
boyhood.” 

Wayne smiled. You have the soul of a poet, 
Joe,” he said. 

In the garb of a farmer,” was the reply in which 
there was a trace of bitterness. 

‘‘ You don’t like the farm? ” 

Joe spoke to the horse, and they drove in silence 
for a few moments. “ I like the farm all right,” 
he said at last, “ but, as I told you once before, I 
am a dreamer, and I am just a little afraid that a 
dreamer will not make a success on the farm — or 
any other place. I am ambitious to have my name 
known beyond the narrow confines of Tyler 
County.” He flicked the whip, and then exclaimed 
impulsively : “ Bob, I want to be a writer ! ” 

Oh, ho! So that is the dream that — - ” 

Call it a nightmare. Parson,” 


CLOSING THE CAMPAIGN 303 

Wayne laughed. Well, why don’t you write? ” 
he asked. 

Joe turned to him eagerly. “ Do you think I 
could do it, Bob ? ” 

“ You can’t do it if you don’t try, that’s cer- 
tain.” 

The town lay before them, and they turned into 
Main Street. The chill winds had driven the loaf- 
ers from the bench in front of the Tyler House, 
but genial Landlord Hausman stood on the front 
steps, and his face lighted up as he saw them. 

“ I heard you was to speak in Riverside to-night,” 
he said, plunging out to the buggy and squeezing 
Wayne’s hand, “ and I was just standin’ out here 
figurin’ a little. Says I, ‘ Jake Hausman, if you 
miss bearin’ the Parson speak you’ll repent of it,’ 
but there’s goin’ to be a banquet at the Tyler House 
to-night — Good Templars, Daughters of Rebekah, 
or some of them lodges, are goin’ to initiate and 
then eat oysters and fixin’s at my place — and I just 
ought to be here to look after things.” 

“ Don’t neglect business, Hausman,” replied 
Wayne, laughing. “ Besides, the fewer of my 
friends that hear my speech, the more friends I’ll 
have to-morrow.” 

There was nothing particularly funny about the 
remark, but Hausman roared with laughter and, 
reaching over, slapped Joe enthusiastically on the 
back. 

Listen to that,” he said, recovering his breath 
a moment. “ The Bible tells of somebody killing 


304 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

somebody with the jaw-bone of an ass, but I never 
heard of the jaw-bone of a preacher hurtin’ anybody 
very seriously. But there comes Bill Ward. I’ll 
bet a barrel of sauerkraut he goes to Riverside.” 

The marshal came out to the buggy and shook 
hands all around. Glad to see you, Parson,” he 
said. “ Don’t believe I’d ’a’ seen you if I hadn’t 
heard Hausman bellowin’. Jake’s a sort of social 
signal bureau. When you hear his fog-horn goin’ 
you know he’s found some fellow worth palaverin’ 
with.” 

Which is a neatly turned compliment to both 
Hausman and myself,” said Wayne. “ How is the 
family, Ward?” 

‘‘Fine, sir; fine. But at night when wife hears 
a dog bark she can’t sleep. Hideous things get into 
her dreams. She’s taught the little girl a prayer, 
and she says it every night now.” There was a 
slight break in his voice, and then he grasped the 
preacher’s hand again and held it tight as he con- 
tinued : “ And, Parson, when she says that prayer 
I go to my knees, too. She always asks God to 
watch over you and give you strength to do your 
duty — as you did that day when — when the 
dog — ” 

“ Well, well. Ward, haven’t you forgotten that 
affair yet?” asked Wayne, interrupting him. 

The marshal turned his honest eyes full on the 
minister and shook his head. “ No, sir,” he said, 
“ nor I won’t forget it.” 

“ Well, let’s talk politics,” said Hausman, im- 


CLOSING THE CAMPAIGN 305 

patiently. ‘‘ Are you goin’ to Riverside to hear 
the Parson speak to-night?’’ 

“Sure!” was the prompt reply. “I was just 
going to speak about it. I’m going, and I’m going 
to have a seat on the stage, or I’ll start trouble.” 

“ Then I’m goin’, too,” said Hausman. “ The 
lodge folks can carry the Tyler House away if they 
want to, but I’m goin’ to hear that speech. I’ll 
see you later, for I’ve got to go scramble into a 
white shirt.” He waved his hand in dismissal, and 
turned towards the hotel. 

After a few minutes more conversation Ward 
also left them, promising to be at the train. Joe 
and Wayne drove on to Craig’s blacksmith shop, 
where they found Timothy making the sparks fly. 
He greeted them with a cheery salutation, but his 
right hand did not cease its sturdy blows with the 
hammer. 

“ There’s a couple of nail-kegs that ain’t workin’ 
— set down,” he said. “ I’ll be through here in a 
minute.” 

He hammered industriously for a short time, and 
then holding the bit of iron in a pair of tongs, he 
surveyed it critically. Then he struck it a few more 
blows and held it aloft again. Evidently it was 
satisfactory this time, for he plunged it into the 
cooling tub, and when it had ceased to hiss tossed 
it near the door. 

“ Business has been pretty good here lately,” he" 
said, wiping his hands on his apron and kicking 
another empty nail-keg into position for a seat. 


306 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

Now that harvest is over the farmers are getting 
their iron work patched up. But what’s the news 
in the country ? ” 

“ Quiet as a Dunkard meeting,” said Joe. 

And Jim Gordon — how’s he gettin’ along?” 

“ I called at the house yesterday,” said Wayne, 
‘‘ and was told that the doctor had some hopes of 
his recovery. They wouldn’t let me see him. Said 
no one but the doctor was to be admitted.” 

Timothy got up and gave the bellows a few 
pumps, and nursed the fire in the forge a moment. 
“ No clue yet? ” he asked. 

“ Not the slightest that I know of.” 

Strange,” said Craig, meditatively. 

Yes, it is strange,” replied Wayne. “ And 
sometimes I think — ” He paused suddenly. 

‘‘Sometimes you think what?” inquired Joe, 
quickly. 

“ I suppose it’s foolish, but sometimes I think that 
knife-thrust was intended for me. I have stirred 
up plenty of enemies since I have been in Tyler 
County. Maybe the fellow who did it was after 
me, and made a mistake in the dark.” 

Timothy smote his hands together. “ By jing. 
Parson! If that’s the case you had better carry a 
gun. If they tried it once they’ll try it again.” 

“ I don’t believe I care to go armed, but I’ll keep 
on my guard,” replied the preacher. 

“ You bet you must. I hadn’t thought of that 
idea, but it looks reasonable. Campaign times in 
Indiana are pretty bitter sometimes, and the last 


CLOSING THE CAMPAIGN 307 

campaign and this are the worst I ever knew. Be- 
sides, you’ve been fightin’ this subsidy pretty 
strong.” 

The chill, raw day had made it necessary to have 
the doors of the shop closed. As Timothy stopped 
speaking a merry whistle was heard without. 

“ That’s Paragraph’s ‘ Banks of the Wabash/ ” 
said Joe, laughing. “ When he comes without 
‘ The Wabash ’ send for a doctor at once.” 

The latch rattled and one of the big doors swung 
open far enough to admit a head with a pair of 
glasses resting on the nose. 

“ Come in, you drone,” called the smith, in mock 
harshness. “ I’d think that a chap whose only labor 
was with a lead-pencil would be ashamed to show 
his face among honest working men.” 

The editor came in smiling. Then he sobered 
down and looked reproachfully at Craig. “ Tim,” 
he said, ‘‘ you do me an injustice. Your hands are 
hardened by toil, but the labor of thought has worn 
callouses on my brain.” 

“You mean on your conscience, don’t you?” 
asked Joe, laughing. 

“ I refuse to discuss the question further. Par- 
son, how are you? I heard you were in town, and 
I knew that Joe would drag you to this place at 
once. You deliver a speech in Riverside to-night, 
I believe.” 

“ Waiting on the train now,” said the preacher. 

“ Well, can’t you go up to the duke domum with 
me a moment — shut up your laughing, Joe, that’s 


3 o 8 hearts and THE CROSS 

Latin for ‘ Sweet Home/ and it’s all right. I am 
a regular ghoul on dead languages. I dig up a 
word every once in awhile.” 

“ Don’t believe I can go now, Miller,” said 
Wayne. “ I must — ” 

Never mind. No excuse necessary. Susanna 
would be glad to see you, though, and I just got a 
load of wood on subscription, so I know the house 
is warm. But I’m going to Riverside with you.” 

“ Look here, Paragraph ! ” exclaimed Craig. 
“ What’s the reason I didn’t get my paper this 
week? Been to the post-office three times, but no 
Starr 

The editor winked slyly at Joe and Wayne, and 
then turned to the smith. ‘‘ The plate house failed 
to send me a puzzle picture this week, Tim, and I 
didn’t suppose you’d care for a paper without 
one.” 

“ Well, it’s a mighty interestin’ feature,” replied 
the blacksmith, but if you print any more with 
a whole barn-yard full of chickens, and pigs, and 
things to be found. I’ll quit you.” 

“ All right, Tim, I’ll remember your threat.” 
Then he turned to Wayne, and his face was serious. 
He put his hands in his trousers pockets and stood 
silent a moment. Parson,” he said, at last, “ Dave 
Dickson must have coaxed you pretty hard to get 
you to make a speech for him.” 

“ Well, yes,” replied Wayne. “ He did ask me 
rather earnestly. He didn’t beg, though — just 
stated the case like a man. I had said that I would 


CLOSING THE CAMPAIGN 309 

not mix in politics, but, somehow, I wanted to help 
Dickson if possible. I believe he’s true blue and 
will work for the interest of this county. That elec- 
tric railway crowd is back of the other man, and 
it’s a rotten aggregation all the way through. But, 
to tell the truth, I like Dickson, and I expect com- 
mon, every-day friendship had as much to do with 
my decision as anything.” 

“ Dickson’s a good man to be friends with,” re- 
plied Paragraph, slowly. I knew him well when 
I was in Riverside, and I know he never forgets a 
favor. He’s one of the brightest criminal lawyers 
in Central Indiana, too.” The editor’s face flushed 
slightly, as he added this last remark. He was 
thinking of Hallowe’en, when he saw two men pass- 
ing through the woods, and of a time when he saw 
the bloodhounds following a trail straight for the 
Wilson place. It seemed to him that the preacher 
must read his accusing thoughts as they flashed 
through his brain, so he suddenly snatched his eye- 
glasses off and rubbed them vigorously with his 
handkerchief. “ Cool weather puts steam on my 
glass eyes,” he said. I expect we had better be 
heading for the depot, as it’s train-time.” 

Don’t forget to be on your guard,” said the 
smith, following them to the door. “ That sus- 
picion of yours. Parson, in regard to Jim Gordon, 
seems reasonable to me, and if you are right about 
it this big rally to-night might give them another 
chance. But give ’em fits in that speech.” 

A long-drawn whistle sounded from somewhere 


310 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

over the hill, and with Timothy’s words of warn- 
ing and encouragement in their ears the party hur- 
ried away. At the depot they found Hausman and 
Ward awaiting them, the former red-faced and look- 
ing decidedly imcomfortable in a stiffly starched 
shirt. As the party was clambering up the car- 
steps Joe grasped Wayne’s hand. 

‘‘We’ll be thinking of you to-night, Bob, — all 
of us,” he whispered. 

Wayne returned the pressure, and a mist dimmed 
his eyes for a moment. When he had brushed it 
away the train was clicking over the rails past the 
box cars on the long side-track. He entered the car 
and found Hausman struggling with the collar, 
which had become unfastened. Ward and the edi- 
tor had gone to the other end of the car, and were 
already shaking hands with acquaintances and 
sounding the praise of Dickson. 

“ Parson, if you want to save a vote, see if you 
can hook up this collar and hames,” puffed Haus- 
man, twisting around so Wayne could see where his 
collar had become unbuttoned in the rear, and at 
the same time handing him his necktie, which he 
had removed in the struggle. “ Nothin’ but the 
thought of settin’ on the stage could have crowded 
me into this shirt and fixin’s, and now the dratted 
outfit’s cornin’ to pieces already.” 

The preacher laughed, and in a moment had the 
collar and necktie securely fastened once more. 
Hausman puffed out a mighty sigh of relief. 

“ Guess I’ll sleep in ’em to-night,” he said, feel- 


CLOSING THE CAMPAIGN 31 1 

ing around his neck cautiously. “ If they stick this 
time, ril not risk takin’ ’em off.” 

Presently Paragraph and Ward returned to 
them, and the four sat together during the re- 
mainder of the trip. The marshal, the editor, and 
the hotel man earnestly discussed the political sit- 
uation, but Wayne was not in a mood for politics, 
and, after one or two ineffectual attempts to interest 
him in their discussion, the others left him alone. 
The bleakness of the gray landscape appealed to 
his mood. The train rattled on through naked 
woodlands, past gloomy fields of wheat stubble and 
shocked corn. Wayne was thinking of Joe’s part- 
ing words : We’ll be thinking of you to-night. 
Bob, — all of us.” He remembered how he had 
caught at that word “ all.” Had Joe’s emphasis 
of the word been intentional or not? They would 
be thinking of him. Well, that was something to 
warm his heart. It had been so long, so long since 
any one had given him their thought. But was it 
not politics rather than himself that claimed their 
thoughts? Every one in Indiana was absorbed, 
body and soul, in politics, it seemed, and perhaps 
it was the success or failure of his political mis- 
sion that drew their interest. When Joe said all,” 
had he meant Lorraine? But, a few miles away 
across the country, a man lay battling for life, a 
man whose whispers on the threshold of death had 
framed her name. 

Presently he became conscious of a peculiar shud- 
dering motion of the car, and realized that the train 


312 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

was passing through the outskirts of Riverside and 
was slacking speed. A few minutes later and they 
were at the depot. As they went down the steps, 
Dickson shoved his way through the crowd and 
grasped Wayne’s hand, and then the party was sur- 
rounded with some of the candidate’s henchmen. 
After a short consultation, the preacher was ush- 
ered into a cab and driven to a hotel in company 
with Dickson, while Paragraph, Ward, and Haus- 
man strolled down the street, after having arranged 
for admission to the stage. 

Dickson and Wayne exchanged but few words 
during the ride to the hotel, but once inside the can- 
didate’s room, the latter placed his back to the door 
and reached out his hand. 

Wayne, I feel like a crisis has been passed. 
Let me shake your hand — no, not a candidate 
shake, but a genuine, friendly, grateful shake. 
When I saw the train rolling up to the station, 
I had a genuine case of buck ague, for fear some- 
thing would cause you not to come.” 

“ You had my word,” said Wayne, simply. 

‘‘Yes, and I knew that it was as good as the 
promise of holy writ, but Indiana elections are 
everything but tame, and I was apprehensive. The 
physician says that the sudden illness of the other 
speaker is due to some kind of stuff that had been 
put in his food. I didn’t know whether you would 
escape or not, and I tell you this meeting means 
everything to me. This campaign has been one of 
the fiercest I ever saw, and, while I feel pretty 


CLOSING THE CAMPAIGN 313 

confident of success, I know that I must keep ham- 
mering away until the polls close to-morrow night.” 

“ And the other fellow’s plan of campaign is — 
what? ” 

Dickson did not reply, but sat down, fished a 
handful of silver from his pocket, and slowly 
dropped the money piece by piece from one hand 
into the other. 

“ An eloquent pantomime,” laughed Wayne. 

“ A powerful argument,” said Dickson, and he 
did not laugh. 

There was a knock at the door, and Dickson 
opened it and said : “ Hello, Dick, come in ! ” to 
a sallow-faced man standing in the hallway, a man 
with heavy brows overhanging a pair of keen eyes, 
and with a tense expression about his mouth. 

Mr. Wayne, shake hands with Dick Crosby, 
our county chairman,” said Dickson. “ Wayne’s 
going to throw me a verbal life-line to-night,” he 
added, turning to the chairman, and the latter 
jerked his lips open into a dry grin, and then let 
them fly back to their tense expression, as though 
some one had pulled a draw-string. 

‘‘ I’ve heard of you, Wayne,” said Crosby, shak- 
ing hands mechanically, and then drawing a chair 
up to the long table in the room. “ I’ve heard that 
you can talk, and that’s what Dickson needs to- 
night in Riverside.” He pulled a poll-book and 
some letters out of his pocket and began studying 
them, jotting down some figures on a blank tablet 
lying on the table. He scowled at the figures a 


314 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

moment and then tapped the table with his pencil. 
“ There’s trouble over in the second precinct of 
Monroe Township,” he said at last. “ They’re 
knifing the Congressional ticket, and there’ll have 
to be some missionary work done there before 
morning. Why the devil don’t that township chair- 
man get his money to circulating? He’s a peach! 
Knows as much about politics as a jaybird does 
about an automobile. I’ll burn him up when I get 
to a telephone.” He arose and stuffed his papers 
back into his pocket. Rip it into ’em good and 
hard, Wayne,” he said. And don’t sacrifice elo- 
quence in search of facts. They’ve got their hides 
soaked full of figures, now give ’em word-painting, 
and sweep ’em off their feet. Get ’em to whoopin’ 
and clappin’ their hands and keep ’em goin’. The 
only fellows that can be handled now are the ones 
that you can mesmerize. I’m goin’ to say a few 
words to that Monroe Township man.” He jerked 
his lips apart in another dry grin and strode from 
the room. 

“ Mr. Crosby demands eloquence, but he doesn’t 
appear to be a man of sentiment,” said Wayne, as 
Dickson again locked the door. 

“ Crosby’s a politician,” was the response. 

“ And politics is the eternal enemy of sentiment, 
I suppose.” 

Well, there doesn’t seem to be much of the 
mixture in Crosby, at least. He revels in precinct 
meetings and ward caucuses ; he delights in figures, 
and gorges his inner self on pluralities and major- 


CLOSING THE CAMPAIGN 315 

ities; the sweetest poem ever written is less inter- 
esting to him than a poll-book; a painting by one 
of the old masters is to him but a daub on good 
canvas that might otherwise have made splendid 
ballot-bags; to him money is chiefly to be desired, 
not because it will buy bread and meat and oc- 
casionally pie, but because it will buy men’s 
votes.” 

Wayne shook his head. “ And that is the mud- 
puddle in which I am about to play! Crosby is 
to buy all he can, and I am to mesmerize the rest 

— if I can. Ugh ! I begin to feel smeary already. 
You needn’t go out of your way to bring Crosby 
and me together again, Dickson.” 

The candidate smiled. “ Well, I don’t know but 
that you are right, but, if you should get acquainted 
with Crosby, you’ll find that he is not a bad sort. 
He is honest and square all the way through, and 

— pardon me — ^pays a big church assessment.” 

“ Yes, the church rosters contain many Crosbys, 

and, though they pay liberally for the mantle of 
the church behind which to hide, they prove a sorry 
burden. The average man sees through the dis- 
guise, and behind the mask of the Christian he 
detects the world, the flesh, and the devil. One 
such hypocrite does more toward undermining the 
rock on which the church is builded than the hoots 
and jeers of a dozen admitted agnostics.” 

Then you do not think a man who buys votes 
is a Christian ? ” Dickson smiled as he spoke, as 
though amused at fhe thought, 


3i6 hearts and THE CROSS 

I do not consider that you are serious in your 
question, and therefore I will not reply to it.” 

There was another rap at the door, and Dickson 
opened it, but, instead of inviting his callers in, he 
talked to them briefly in the hallway, and Wayne 
heard the clink of silver. Then there was a general 
laugh, and, as the visitors went down the hall, the 
preacher heard them call back to Dickson to ‘‘ look 
out for Adams Township to-night,” as they would 
have ‘‘ something warm.” 

“ Nothing like being a candidate, Wayne,” said 
Dickson, wearily, relocking the door. “ I haven’t 
slept more than four hours at a time for ■ — I don’t 
know how long. Those fellows who were just 
here came in with a delegation from one of the 
out-townships to take part in the parade to-night. 
They’ve got a drum corps, and wanted a little 
money with which to buy muslin for transparencies 
advertising the splendid qualities of Dickson. Of 
course I had to produce the money, though I don’t 
believe that ‘ something warm ’ on the transparen- 
cies will influence a soul. But a refusal to give 
them a dollar would probably have cost me half a 
dozen votes in that township. They would set me 
down as a ‘ cheap skate,’ and would not vote at 
all for representative if they didn’t vote for the 
other fellow. That’s a cheap way to buy votes, and 
yet any one of that crowd would fight you in a 
minute if you should hint that his vote could be 
influenced.” 

Rather a queer situation,” remarked Wayne. 


CLOSING THE CAMPAIGN 317 

‘‘ It’s politics,” replied Dickson. 

They went down to supper and found the hotel 
lobby filled with men gathered in small groups, 
most of them talking earnestly in low tones, while 
occasionally one would jot down some figures and 
hand them to the others for inspection. The clerk 
was flurried with the crush of business, and his 
incessant pounding of the call-bell kept the porters 
on the jump. Clouds of cigar smoke made the 
atmosphere hazy, and the smell of burning tobacco 
was not unmixed with the pungent odor of whiskey. 
Dickson shook hands right and left, jesting merrily 
the while, waving his hand and shouting words of 
greeting to others in remote corners of the lobby, 
and intermingling all of it with terse introductions 
of Wayne to those about him. They had zigzagged 
their way to the dining-room door, when a man 
suddenly detached himself from a laughing group 
and lurched unsteadily towards them. A felt hat, 
battered and dusty, sat sidewise on his head, and 
his fox-like face carried a week’s growth of beard. 
He plucked Dickson by the arm. 

“Jus’ a minute, Dave,” he said, blinking un- 
certainly. 

Dickson frowned. I’m in a hurry, ‘ Tam- 
many,’ ” he replied. 

The other laughed in a foolish way. “ Bet yer 
life ye recognize old Tammany, don’t ye, Dave? 
Huh? Bet yer life ye do. Jus’ wanted to tell ye 
it’s all right. Tammany’s got Taylor Township in 
his vest-pocket, and she’s yours to-morrow. Dern 


3i8 hearts and THE CROSS 

’em, they throwed me out of a precinct caucus the 
other night, an’ I told ’em I’d turn the township 
over to Dickson, an’ by hell she’s yours. Huh? 
Ain’t I the Tammany of Taylor Township? Huh? 
Damn right I am. Got ’em in my vest-pocket. 
Old Tammany — ” 

“Yes, yes, I know you can deliver the goods 
all right. I’ll see you after supper.” Dickson 
moved towards the door, but “ Tammany ” caught 
his arm once more and began trying to whisper 
maudlin confidences to him. Dickson again broke 
loose, and as he and Wayne started for their seats, 
the unsteady one called after them : 

“ Jus’ watch Tammany’s smoke. Got Taylor 
Township in my ves’-pocket, an’ I’ll show ’em the 
tiger’s claws to-morrow. Make ’em dern sorry they 
put me out. Tammany’s hell when he’s loose. 
Huh?” He took off his hat, scratched his head 
in an uncertain way, and then wabbled towards a 
group of politicians, who dispersed as he ap- 
proached, and then reassembled in another corner, 
leaving the outraged “ Tammany ” looking stu- 
pidly about in the odorous haze. 

“ He’s one of the characters always on hand 
at a rally,” said Dickson. “ He’s naturally smart, 
but a little booze makes a different man out of him, 
and he imagines himself a power in politics.” 

“ I am becoming more and more uncertain as 
to whether a preacher should keep away from pol- 
itics or whether more of them should dive in and 
attempt to purify things,” said Wayne. 


CLOSING THE CAMPAIGN 


319 


“ It’s a question that I won’t attempt to answer,” 
said Dickson, and then, with a sigh, he turned his 
attention to his supper. 

He did not seem disposed to be talkative, and 
Wayne humored his mood, contenting himself with 
watching the play of emotions on his face. Dick- 
son appeared weary, and lines were deepening on 
his forehead, while his eyes seemed to have shrunk 
from his brows. Once a drum somewhere out on 
the street rattled, and a shadow flitted across the 
candidate’s face. The price Dickson was paying 
was far greater than his possible reward, it seemed 
to the preacher. 

After supper the two went to the campaign head- 
quarters, and there they found more men, more 
smoke, and more whiskey scents. A drum corps 
was in the back room practising with the fifers, 
while in one corner of the chairman’s oflice a negro 
quartette were holding their heads close together 
and droning with many minors the words of cam- 
paign songs which they were to hurl at the crowd 
that night. The county chairman shook hands 
with them, and said something which was lost in 
the rattle of the drums and the shriek of the fife. 
Crosby, realizing that his voice had proved unequal 
to the occasion, took a deep breath and bawled out 
in stentorian tones : I say she’s goin’ to be a 

whooper to-night ! ” 

At that moment there was a deafening explosion 
in front of the building and the glass rattled. A 
weak cheer arose. 


320 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

“ It’s the factory men’s cannon,” explained Dick- 
son, as the drums quieted a moment. “ They have 
an organization, and made the cannon themselves 
for campaign purposes. Some one stole it once, and 
for two years it remained hidden, but our fellows 
found it a week ago, and they’re going to turn 
her loose to-night.” 

Another roar sounded in the street, and then the 
drums crashed once more, and now the corps was 
passing down the stairway to join the crowd in 
front, and to attract others. There was to be a 
big parade, and the chairman was busy arranging 
for the start. A band reported and was assigned 
a place in the column, and then out-townships one 
after another reported their delegations, and in 
half an hour all was ready. A barouche drove up 
to the curb, and Wayne, Dickson, Crosby, and one 
of the prominent citizens took seats in the vehicle. 
The drummers and the cannoneers had left the 
spot to take the places assigned them, and com- 
parative quiet reigned. The driver spoke to his 
steeds, and as the tugs tightened the strains of a 
violin were heard, and a childish voice arose : 

“ Way down upon the Suwanee — ” 

The words were lost, but Wayne glancing 
quickly over his shoulder saw the blind violinist 
and boy singer that had attracted his attention on 
a previous visit to Riverside. And then he sud- 
denly sprang to his feet and shouted to the driver 
to stop. A woman stood close beside the child, and 


CLOSING THE CAMPAIGN 321 

his swift glance had shown him the face of Lor- 
raine Wilson. The driver reined in his horses 
sharply, but Wayne had already regretted his im- 
pulsive action. His brain was harboring strange 
fancies, he told himself, and the image of Lorraine 
had reflected from his heart. That was all, he said. 

“What’s the matter, Wayne?” asked Dickson, 
anxiously. 

“ A foolish fancy. Tell the driver to go ahead,” 
was the preacher’s reply. “ I thought I saw a cer- 
tain person whom I know is miles from here. My 
action was foolish in the extreme.” 

They reached their place and soon the column 
moved. Bands played and drum corps labored 
vigorously, while ever and anon the marching clubs 
would shout their rhythmic slogans. A plentiful 
supply of Roman candles along the line sent fiery 
balls of iridescent hues spurting into the night. 
The factory men had their cannon on a wagon, 
and the march was punctuated by the crash of its 
discharge. Transparencies dotted the line and 
bobbed about like corks on an angry sea. The 
words on these were received with hand-clappings 
and cheers, or by derisive groans and bitter taunts, 
according to the political sympathies of those who 
lined the streets on either side to see the closing 
demonstration of a remarkable campaign. 

At length the theatre was reached, and Wayne 
was escorted to a seat in the centre of the flag- 
bedecked stage. About forty prominent citizens 
and pioneers of the party were already seated on 


322 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

the stage, and as he approached they eyed him 
critically. It was plain that they had their doubts 
about him. Paragraph, Hausman, and Ward were 
there and nodded their encouragement. Finally an 
old man arose and came towards him, thumping the 
stage with a cane as he walked. Bowing before the 
preacher, he gave the stage an extra thump with 
his cane, and said he wished to welcome him. 

‘‘ I have no doubt you have often heard of me. 
My name’s Purdy, generally called Father Purdy, 
sir. I was present at the birth of the Republican 
party, and, egad, sir, I have been prominent in pol- 
itics all of my life. I am not vain, but, sir, I must 
say that I have been prominent in the councils of 
this grand party. We had our doubts, sir, about 
a preacher being the man to close this campaign, 
but Dickson’s no fool, and we agreed to try you. 
And, sir, I want to say that I believe that you’ll 
make a good speech. I can tell by looking at a 
man, egad I can, sir.” He shook hands solemnly 
and in a dignified manner, and then thumped back 
to his chair. 

The theatre filled rapidly, but Wayne forgot the 
fact. He was thinking about the blind violinist 
and the boy — and of his fancy. Then he seemed 
to hear Joe whispering that all of them would be 
thinking of him that night, and he wondered if it 
were true, if Lorraine had given him a thought, 
or whether all of her thoughts were for the man 
who lay at death’s portals as the result of a knife 
wound. The brilliantly lighted theatre faded away, 


CLOSING THE CAMPAIGN 323 

and he sat again in the farmhouse and heard her 
playing soft chords on the organ in accompaniment 
to half-murmured songs that flowed dreamily from 
her lips. Could it be that, after all, she loved Jim 
Gordon? She had approved of his treatment of 
Gordon in the row over the gypsy, but perhaps her 
affections came and went like the tides ; perhaps — 
but he told himself that he was doing her an injus- 
tice. He did not know the secrets of her heart, 
but he knew that hers was not an inconstant nature. 
He knew — 

“ . . . And now I have the honor and the pleas- 
ure of introducing Mr. Robert Wayne, who will 
address you.’’ 

Wayne dimly heard the words and saw the 
speaker turn towards him with a gesture. He heard 
Purdy’s cane thumping applause on the stage floor, 
and became conscious of the fact that the prelim- 
inary exercises were over and that he had been 
introduced. He rubbed his eyes, but he saw the 
eyes of the prominent men turned inquiringly 
towards him, and he realized that he must act. 
Hastily he arose to his feet and stepped to the front 
of the stage. A storm of applause greeted him, 
the cane of Purdy hammering like mad. He was 
dazed and totally at loss for words. The applause 
died away, but still his thoughts were scattered 
and he stood dumb. There was a moment of sus- 
pense; he cleared his throat and vainly tried to 
pick up the thread of his speech. He felt the blood 
mounting to his temples, but at that instant there 


324 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

was a thundering roar just outside the theatre, and 
the voice of the factory cannon shook the windows. 
It was Wayne’s salvation. A ripple of laughter 
went over the audience, and he laughed also. The 
spell was broken ; he was again himself. He heard 
Joe whispering, ‘‘ We’ll be thinking of you to-night. 
Bob, — all of us.” He found his tongue and in a 
moment was into his speech. For an hour he spoke, 
and did his best to obey the injunction of Crosby 
to give ’em word-painting and sweep ’em off 
their feet.” And right well did he succeed, the 
bursts of applause coming more and more fre- 
quently, until, as he closed, with a peroration that 
was a gem of eloquence, — and a desert of solid 
facts, — the building shook with cheers, and the 
factory men hastily loaded their cannon and fired 
it in the theatre lobby. 

The prominent men crowded about to shake his 
hand, and old Purdy thumped the toes of a dozen 
people in an effort to show his appreciation. Haus- 
man. Paragraph, and Ward were in the crowd, 
slapping him on the shoulder and congratulating 
him. Dickson cracked the bones in the preacher’s 
hand, and his voice was husky as he said: 

You’ve elected me, Wayne, and I’ll never for- 
get. I’ve got to ‘ shake the bushes ’ all night, and 
I suppose I’ll have to say good-by now, as you 
won’t care to join in political games.” 

“ No, I’ll go to the hotel and wash my hands. 
I’ve been playing in the mud.” 


CLOSING THE CAMPAIGN 325 

Dickson smiled. Then he reached out his hand 
once more, and, as he held the preacher’s palm 
in his, he repeated : 

“ I’ll never forget, Wayne. I’ll never forget.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 


SERVED THE WARRANT 

W HEN the train pulled into Craigville the 
next morning, Wayne’s companions 
breathed easy for the first time in hours. 
“ It would have been just our luck if the train 
had jumped the track and smashed us up so we 
couldn’t vote,” said Ward. 

They went down the street and met groups of 
men on the sidewalk talking earnestly, and saw 
men sneaking out from the rear of a saloon. A 
long rope stretched along one side of a walk marked 
a voting-place. The day was raw and blustery, 
and small fires had been kindled by the challengers 
and poll-book holders, over which they crouched 
and cracked dismal jokes. Party workers drove 
away from the voting-places in great haste, only 
to return with a voter who had been “ seen.” On 
a corner a negro, conspicuous by a rabbit-skin cap 
and a red flannel vest, strummed a home-made 
banjo, and in a tuneless voice shouted rambling 
songs. 

“ When God made a nigger 
He made him in the night. 

And made him in such a hurry 
He forgot to make him white.” 

326 


SERVED THE WARRANT 327 

He plunked the old banjo and shuffled his feet in 
a measureless dance. A guffaw of laughter re- 
warded him, and, giving the strings an extra twang, 
he threw back his head and shouted: 

“ Election comes and I must go — 

Um-m-m, ah, Billy Bryan — 

Pick a tune on the old banjo, 

While the votes are flyin’. 

McKinley says, ‘ Keep open the mills ’ — 

Um-m-m, ah, Billy Bryan — 

‘ Your silver gives me the chills,’ — 

Just hear this coon a-sighin’.” 

It was evident that some candidate had heard 
that “ coon a-sighin’, ’’ for, as he finished his song, 
a man stepped up to him and said something to 
him in a low tone, and a few minutes later the 
singer followed the man up a stairway. 

“ That coon will come down armed with a carbon 
envelope,” said Paragraph, with a laugh, as they 
passed on. 

Wayne did not reply for a moment. Finally he 
said : I’ll have to confess that I don’t understand 

the carbon envelope.” 

The editor smiled. Just a Hoosier way of 
beating the Australian system,” he said. ‘‘ The 
floater is given a sealed envelope containing a sheet 
of carbon-paper over the Republican and Demo- 
cratic emblems. The man who sells bis vote must 
fit his ballot over the envelope when he makes his 
cross in the circle around the party emblem, and 
the carbon-paper in the envelope records the mark 
on the slip beneath. When the 'floater’ goes tq 


328 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

collect his money, he delivers the envelope record, 
showing that he voted as he agreed.’’ 

I guess I don’t know much about politics,” said 
Wayne. 

You were reared in a different atmosphere, no 
doubt,” was the reply. ‘‘ That’s only one of the 
many tricks devised to help the vote-buyer triumph 
over the Australian system.” 

Hausman had gone to the hotel, and Ward had 
been called to look after a drunken rowdy who 
was making himself obnoxious about the voting- 
places, and now Paragraph excused himself and 
hurried to the office. Joe had promised to meet 
Wayne at the depot with the buggy, and had failed 
to appear, but the preacher was not surprised. He 
had learned that in Indiana politics had right of 
way over everything else. 

“ Hi, there ! ” A voice hailed him from the 
opposite side of the street, and he saw Jap Mun- 
son’s red head bobbing at him. Haven’t got a 
minute to talk to you. Parson,” he said, darting 
across the street and coiling the lash of his black- 
snake. I’m in an awful rush this morning, I 
tell you, but I just wanted to tell you that I was 
readin’ in the paper awhile ago about what a rip 
snortin’ speech you made up to Riverside last night. 
Old Father Purdy was interviewed by the reporter, 
and said it was the best speech he had heard since 
he was present at the birth of the party.” 

The preacher laughed. “ I met Purdy, and he 
thumped me on the toes with his cane,” he said. 


SERVED THE WARRANT 329 

But I had forgotten to look at the morning 
paper.” 

Munson flicked his whip at a dead leaf. “Say, 
Parson,” he said, “ I was just wonderin’ if you’d 
do me a favor.” 

“ Why, of — ” 

“ Now hold on. Wife’s got something this 
morning, I forget what it is, and — oh, yes, it’s 
some kind of a paralysis threatenin’ her arm — 
she wanted me to hurry back with some medicine 
for her. I’d like to have you take it over for me 
when you go out home.” 

“ Why, of course, Jap. Is she very much indis- 
posed? ” 

Munson grinned. “ Not dangerous, I guess,” 
he said. “ I left her worrying the hogs and quar- 
relin’ with the chickens. But you know I am full 
of business to-day. The darned skunks played 
a mean trick on us last night. We had three voters 
living in a little shack on the precinct line, and last 
night a gang got ’em drunk, and then, after put- 
tin’ them to bed, put trucks under the house, hitched 
a couple of teams to it, and pulled it across the road 
into another precinct. This morning they chal- 
lenged their votes because they hadn’t lived in the 
precinct long enough. Said they had moved the 
night before election.” He swung the whip about 
his head and popped it viciously. “ If I knew for 
certain who done the movin’. I’d bite ’em with my 
blacksnake.” 

“ How are things going? ” 


330 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

‘‘ I wish you’d tell me. Never saw an election 
as hard to figure on. The subsidy business is a 
goner, though, I can tell you that.” 

‘‘ And how about the trustee ? ” 

Munson coiled his whip again. Parson, they’re 
makin’ me hump,” he said, solemnly. “ That’s all 
I know. But I’m in an awful rush.” He pulled 
a bottle from his pocket. Here’s that medicine 
for my wife — and, by jing! I must send a plaster 
out for — for — one of the kids, I forget which. 
Wife says she just knows he’s takin’ pneumonia.” 
He darted into a near-by drug store and shortly 
reappeared with the plaster. “ Tell wife I won’t be 
home until after the polls close,” he said, and hur- 
ried away in pursuit of a voter. 

Wayne watched the ebb and flow of politics for 
a time, but the bleakness of the day depressed him ; 
the old struggle between heart and the Cross was 
raging. Every fibre of his being worshiped Lor- 
raine Wilson, the woman whom he alone, perhaps, 
knew to be the lawful wife of another. That she 
did not love the man to whom she was wedded he 
well knew, but was not her heart given to Gordon? 
Pity is akin to love, and adversity woos the heart 
of sympathy. Certainly Gordon’s condition was 
such as to appeal to a concealed and smouldering 
love, if such existed. It was with delight that he 
saw Joe driving towards him. 

I’ve been busier than Jap Munson,” said the 
young farmer. ‘‘ Let’s drive around past the drug 


SERVED THE WARRANT 331 

store. I want to get a paper so I can read about 
your speech.’' 

“ Oh, I can tell you all about it on the road 
home,” said Wayne. “ I’m chilled through. It’s a 
sorry day, sure.” 

“ But I have orders from Lorraine to buy a 
paper. She said she wanted to see you in print 
as others see you.” 

A warm wave rolled from the preacher’s heart, 
and he was silent until Joe drove to the drug store 
and then turned towards home, after securing the 
paper. They talked about the election and about 
Wayne’s experiences in the county capital, and Joe 
laughed heartily at the preacher’s description of 
“ Tammany ” and old man Purdy. Wayne even 
tried to imitate the negro ban joist’s rendition of 
“ Um-m-m, ah, Billy Bryan.” He shouted merry 
greetings to those they met on the way, and inter- 
spersed his chatter with bits of college songs that 
made Joe’s eyes glisten. 

“ Those songs appeal to me. Bob,” he said. 
“ They remind me of what I have missed, though. 
But it seems to me you are in better humor than 
when I picked you up. Getting thawed out?” 

Wayne gave a simple “ yes ” in reply, but he 
might have continued with the explanation that the 
knowledge of Lorraine’s interest had been the force 
that softened the temperature, brightened the skies, 
and “ thawed him out.” 

They drove up to the home place, and the faithful 
old dog came bounding out to meet them. The 


332 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

old man greeted Wayne in his kindly manner, and 
his wife inquired solicitously if he had had break- 
fast. 

Anything new in Riverside ? ’’ asked the Ma- 
jor. 

Wayne smiled. ‘‘ Not unless there is something 
new in politics,” he said. “ From the time I got 
off the train until I got back, I breathed politics, 
ate figures, and drank caucuses. There isn’t much 
sense to that statement, but it’s about my experi- 
ence.” 

And how about Dickson ? ” 

Says he’s going to be elected, and says I helped 
him, but I don’t want any more of it. I feel some 
of the slime clinging to me yet. It’s a relief to get 
back to the place once more, but I must drive on 
over to Munson’s and deliver this medicine for 
Jap.” He stood around a moment, talking at ran- 
dom with the old man, but with his eyes and ears 
on the alert for Lorraine. However, she did not 
appear, and he drove away to Munson’s. After 
delivering the medicine, he hastened back to the 
Wilson place. 

As he stepped up on the porch again, he heard 
the sound of the organ and Lorraine’s voice raised 
in song. He entered the house, and then walked 
directly to the little parlor. As he stepped into the 
room, the song hushed, and as she looked up, 
startled, a flush dyed her cheeks. 

I would like to hear the remainder of the song,” 
he said, rather awkwardly. 


SERVED THE WARRANT 333 

“ Your coming was so unexpected that it fright- 
ened the tune away,” she said, smiling. 

A regular bogy man on tunes, am I ? ” 

“ Never mind the tune. I congratulate you on 
your Riverside success. The morning paper says, 
‘ The Hon. Robert Wayne closed the speaking cam- 
paign with a flood of eloquence that swept his hear- 
ers off their feet and kept them constantly applaud- 
ing.’ ” 

I haven’t read the paper yet. Did it say I 
‘ mesmerized ’em ? ’ ” 

She looked at him doubtfully. “ N-0-0, I don’t 
think so.” 

He laughed at her mystification. Crosby told 
me to, and I was wondering if I had obeyed orders.” 
Then his manner suddenly changed. “ You weren’t 
in Riverside last night, were you ? ” 

‘‘ Why, certainly not — except in thought.” 

He caught his breath sharply and the hand he 
rested on the organ trembled. Do you mean 
— that — that you were thinking about — my 
speech?” 

She turned the leaves of the music and struck 
a chord on the instrument. Why, Joe kept talk- 
ing about you all the time.” She touched another 
chord, and he turned from the organ and walked 
towards the door. But why did you ask if I was 
in Riverside ? ” she added. 

“Just a whim of a distorted fancy. For a mo- 
ment I would have sworn that I saw you.” 

He turned again towards the door, but there was 


334 hearts and THE CROSS 

a queer sound in the girl’s throat, and he looked 
around in time to see her music fall to the floor. 
White and trembling she had arisen to her feet and 
stood clutching the edge of the organ. 

‘‘You thought — you — saw — me in River- 
side ? ” she asked, a halt in her speech. 

“Yes, and I stopped the carriage a moment. 
But of course I realized my mistake and drove on.” 

She sat down and gave utterance to a peal of 
laughter which Wayne could not help believing was 
a trifle nervous and considerable of an effort. 

“ Come back a moment, Mr. Wayne, and tell 
me all about myself. What did I do after you saw 
me, and what was I doing when you saw me? ” 

“ It was only a glimpse,” he replied. “ Why 
should you give it heed ? ” 

“ Oh, no reason in the world, except that one is 
always interested in one’s self, of course. Some- 
times I am a bit superstitious, and when you first 
spoke I was startled. I haven’t been very strong 
lately. No doubt my school work is wearing on 
me. Ever since Jim Gordon was stabbed, my 
nerves have been on a razor edge. You enjoyed 
your trip, I hope.” 

“ I was not completely happy imtil I stepped out 
of the buggy at the Wilson place.” 

Once more the color stole to her cheeks, but she 
did not reply. A sudden gust of wind rattled the 
window fiercely and sent a cloud of dead leaves 
whirling across the yard. 

“A day in keeping with life,” he said, after a 


SERVED THE WARRANT 335 

moment of silence. “ An unseen force clutches at 
our souls and shakes our purposes, even as the 
wind’s rough but unseen clutch shakes the windows. 
And then the skeletons of the past, all our mis- 
takes and good resolves that withered, go whirling 
before our eyes, riding on that same phantom 
force.” 

“ You are in a melancholy mood,” she said, aris- 
ing and going to a window. 

‘‘ Perhaps. At least, I am honest. There comes 
a time in every man’s life when his spirit droops 
and he longs to lay down his burdens, to be once 
more just himself, himself as he used to be, free 
from mask and from the coarse fibres that have 
crept into his life with the years. He has lived in 
the world of hearts, he turns to the promise of the 
Cross, and he longs to be understood; but, though 
the winds of desire and remorse rack him, he seeks 
in vain for words with which to portray that which 
is in his soul. He must go to the Cross and ‘ tell 
it to the Lord in prayer.’ ” 

I believe, Mr. Wayne, that your nerves are 
also unstrung. Perhaps — ” 

He stopped her with a gesture. “ I know what 
you would say — that I should rest up. It’s what 
they all say when a man’s soul is tattered. But 
it’s not so ! What I need is more work to dull the 
brain ! ” His voice had grown harsh, and his 
words came like the lash of angry seas, but sud- 
denly his teeth clicked hard, and then he bowed 
before her. “ I beg pardon,” he said, “ I did not 


336 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

mean to be rude, but I spoke truly. When I was 
a boy, a visit to the circus would fill me with a 
vague and restless longing to live always in the 
world that glittered, with the strains of music in 
my ears, but a plunge into hard work always 
brought surcease. I have been standing like a child 
in a self-conjured world of glittering delights, and 
now it is work I need.” 

Well, a man ought to find plenty of that on 
a farm,” said a voice from the doorway, and, turn- 
ing, they saw the Major. 

‘‘ Mr. Wayne has taken a glimpse into the world 
that glitters, — the world to which he was born, 
— and now he feels his innermost nature crying 
out against our dull life on the farm.” It was Lor- 
raine who spoke. 

“ Wrong, I assure you,” responded the preacher, 
impulsively. “ I have come back to the spot I hold 
most dear, but it is because I feel that I soon must 
go out into the beating, struggling world that dis- 
content is gnawing at me. I love the Wabash; 
I love the honest, true-hearted people of this com- 
munity, because here I have found both hearts and 
the Cross, and 

Whatever may come, come joy, come woe, 

My refuge forever, forever is here.’ ” 

He did not sing the words, but they tripped from 
his tongue as though welling from his heart. The 
old man glanced at Lorraine, but her face was away 
from him, and he could not see the pallor that stole 


SERVED THE WARRANT 337 

the color from her cheeks as the words of the old 
song fell from the preacher’s lips. 

“ That song was a favorite of mine, Mr. Wayne 
— long ago,” said the old man, and another glance 
stole towards Lorraine. “ I am glad you like our 
humble community, and I am sorry you talk of leav- 
ing. Yet we cannot hope to keep you bound here.” 

“ It would be a glorious bondage,” replied 
Wayne, and then, noting the pallor still in the girl’s 
face, he suddenly turned towards the door. ‘‘ I 
must get my Sunday sermon under way,” he said. 

He was half-way up the stairs when the old man 
stepped to the door. Parson,” he called, would 
you be kind enough to talk once more about the 
‘ Rose and the Thorn ? ’ I think you are right — 
that the quality of forgiveness is the greatest glory 
that can enter into the life of man.” His hand 
rested on the banister rail, and a tear stole down his 
wrinkled cheek. 

“ Other refuge have I none, 

Hangs my helpless soul on Thee.” 

The sweet voice of the mother came to them, 
enriched with the quaver of many chastening years. 
The old man’s head bowed lower until it touched 
his arm. 


« Leave, oh, leave me not alone. 

Still support and comfort me.” 

Wayne stood looking down on the bowed head 
a moment, and then tiptoed to his room to fall 


338 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

on his knees. And when he looked up, the clouds 
had parted and a beam of sunshine had peeped 
in at the window. 

During the afternoon he labored in the woods 
pasture, swinging an axe with lusty will, “ dulling 
memory and stifling thought.” Men drove rap- 
idly up and down the near-by highway, and occa- 
sionally one would hitch his horse and climb the 
fences to solicitously inquire if he had voted. When 
informed that he was not eligible to vote, they 
speedily lost interest in him, and remarked that 
they must be a-going.” But as the afternoon 
waned, the solicitous ones who paused to query re- 
mained long enough to assure him that the subsidy 
proposition had gone down in defeat. That was 
common ground on which all met to rejoice. Aside 
from that, the news from the political battle-fields 
was uncertain in its tenor. Jap Munson was in dire 
straits, every one agreed on that; Dickson had a 
fighting chance to carry the township, and it looked 
as though McKinley would carry the township. 
The Dunkards were voting in greater numbers than 
ever before, and the Republicans confidently claimed 
that these votes were going for McKinley. The 
Congressional ticket was in doubt, telephone mes- 
sages from county headquarters stating that both 
parties claimed Tyler County by snug majorities 
for the Congressional ticket. But steadily swung 
the axe, and the pile of wood for consumption dur- 
ing the long winter near at hand grew in proportion. 

“ He’s a bully good fellow, preacher or no 


SERVED THE WARRANT 339 

preacher,” said one caller to his companion, after 
leaving the chopper. 

“ Yep,” assented the other. Then, after a mo- 
ment’s deliberation, he added : “ But he ought to 
take more interest in politics.” 

The November night came on early, and the 
lamps were lighted before time for supper. A fire 
crackled and glowed in the big sheet-iron stove, and 
before it sat Wayne, silent. He had wearied the 
body, but his brain was not dulled. A gust of wind 
wailed at the window, and he thought of the Sunday 
when he and Lorraine had been caught in the woods 
by the storm. He recalled the brief time he had 
spent alone with her in the deserted sugar-camp, 
while the tempest raged about them. Here of late 
he had brooded much over the past. The future 
he refused to consider. When he looked up, the 
Major was standing at his side, an open letter in 
his hand. “ I have just received a reply from the 
expert for whom I sent to examine your iron dis- 
covery. He will be here next week.” 

I presume that Ormand has not sent any more 
agents to you with a view of purchasing the 
ground.” 

The old man smiled. “ No,” he said, “ I guess 
you decided that question for him.” 

Wayne nodded. The firelight played on his fea- 
tures and they looked haggard. ‘‘ I think I decided 
two or three questions for him,” he said. 

Lorraine came in, her cheeks glowing red where 
the wind had kissed them. ‘‘ I was reading in the 


340 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

paper that the goose-bone prediction was for an 
early winter,” she said, deftly tucking back a stray 
wisp of hair that autumn had torn from its place. 
“ If it keeps on as it has begun, wedl have a white 
Thanksgiving.” Her face lighted up with sudden 
happiness. “ I’m a regular snow-bird, Mr. Wayne. 
If we could just have a white Thanksgiving, it 
would seem like the old days when we were all at 
home, and — ” She stopped short, and the color 
flamed deeper in her cheeks for an instant and then 
slowly receded until a gray pallor was there. The 
old man stood stiffly erect, and one bony hand swept 
back the mass of silvered hair from his brow. 

“ Lorraine,” and his voice sounded cold, “ I think 
I heard your mother calling.” 

She flashed a lightning glance at the preacher, 
and then, bowing her head, left the room silently, 
leaving Wayne groping blindly for an explanation. 

“ The goose-bone and the corn-husk prognosti- 
cations are always on duty in Indiana at this season 
of the year,” said the Major, after an interval of 
silence. 

“Yes,” replied Wayne, simply, and continued 
gazing into the fire. 

The old man walked to the window and peered 
out into the darkness. He turned again to the man 
by the fire. “ You do not believe in signs, do you ? ” 

Wayne looked at him steadily for a moment. 
“ No,” he said, musingly. “ And yet I should, in 
a measure, at least. Once I dreamed that an angel 
had pointed me to the Cross, and — ” 


SERVED THE WARRANT 341 

‘‘ McKinley carried this township all right ! ex- 
claimed Joe, suddenly bursting into the room. He 
spread his hand to the cheerful warmth and con- 
tinued: “You ought to see the Dunkards voting. 
Never saw them turn out so before on election 
day.’' 

The sudden interruption broke the tension on 
Wayne’s nerves, and he laughed aloud. “ So even 
you have the political fever, have you ? ” He spoke 
banteringly. 

“ Sh-h-h ! This is one of the times I am trying 
to be a loyal citizen — according to the Indiana 
interpretation.” 

“Which means?” 

“ Look wise around the voting-places and get an 
ear full.” 

There was a call to supper, and the campaign 
and its close furnished the theme of conversation. 
Once Wayne mentioned the prospects for snow on 
Thanksgiving, but, with what seemed to him undue 
haste, Lorraine asked if he intended going to town 
to hear the election returns. “ They always make 
up a purse for a telegraphic report,” she said. 

The preacher went to his room soon after supper, 
and the fragrance of tobacco smoke crept down the 
stairs. He was working on his sermon, but at 
abstracted intervals the smoke seemed to hang hazy 
between him and the Cross. But he clung to duty, 
and gradually peace stole into his soul, and he found 
his pen too slow to catch the sermon that gushed un- 
sought and unlabored from his heart and brain. It 


342 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

had not been his custom to write his sermons, but 
of late he had taken warning of his moods of ab- 
straction, and, fearing that he might stand in the 
pulpit with no words at his command, while his 
thoughts rioted away in pursuit of forbidden fan- 
cies, he had resolved to have manuscript ever before 
him. And now it was finished. Leaning back in 
his chair he closed his eyes in weariness ; the 
moaning of the wind crooned a lullaby to him, and 
he slept. He awoke with a start. Voices were 
heard below, and, as he rubbed his eyes, he caught 
the familiar “ You hear me; you hear meT of Jap 
Munson. 

He went down and found Munson standing be- 
fore the fire, dejection stamped on his countenance. 
He gave the preacher a curt nod. 

Fresh from the battle-field, I suppose, Jap; tell 
me the news — trustee first,’ ^ said Wayne. 

Everything’s gone to thunder — beg pardon. 
Lorry.” He caught himself and looked appealingly 
at the girl, who gave him a smile. 

“ Jap Munson’s name is mud in this election,” 
he continued, gloomily. “ Beat me by two votes. 
Beat me by a derned, ornery (he looked beseech- 
ingly at Lorraine again and she laughed) trick. 
Hitched teams to that shack, and moved three of 
our voters out of the precinct while they was drunk 
— and after we had been keeping them in meat and 
flour for three months, too. It’s a der — ahem 
(he stopped suddenly and cleared his throat) — 
I mean it’s a low-down Shenanigan trick ! ” 


SERVED THE WARRANT 


343 


“ And how about the rest of the ticket ? ” 

“ Guess they didn’t know Bryan was on the ticket 
in this township. The Dunkards got him. If the 
rest of the country acted the same way, and a tele- 
phone message from Riverside said it looked that 
way, McKinley will be emperor of this country 
and we’ll have a soldier roostin’ on every fence 
post.” He had held his blacksnake in his hand, 
but it fell to the floor now, and he gave it a vicious 
kick. Just a-goin’ by on my way home and 
thought I’d tell you about it.” He picked up his 
whip and started for the door. “ Hope I won’t 
find wife down with smallpox nor any of the kids 
paralyzed,” he said. 

Well, well, Jap,” said the Major, kindly, “ pol- 
itics has many disappointments.” 

‘‘ Politics has many liars,” said the defeated one, 
pausing. 

“ An election is hard to judge,” continued the 
old man, ‘‘ and not always the best man wins.” 

I’ve been to dozens of speakings this cam- 
paign,” said Munson, his hand on the door, and 
if all the fellows who were there and split their 
lungs cheerin’ had voted as they cheered, there 
wouldn’t have been an election in this township 
— simply a Democratic ratification. But I’ve 
learned that a man mustn’t be deceived and puffed 
up by applause, for the average American whoops 
it up strong in order to get all he can for nothing.” 

He went out into the darkness, walking slowly, 
as though reluctant to reach the end of his journey. 


344 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

They listened for the pop of his blacksnake, but 
it was not heard. 

Two days later Wayne received a letter from 
Dickson, telling him that he had carried the county 
by a handsome plurality, and reiterating that he 
would ‘‘ never forget.’^ The same afternoon Para- 
graph and Susanna paid them a visit, the editor 
bringing with him the glad tidings that the official 
canvass of the vote had brought to light an error 
in the vote for trustee, and that Jap Munson was 
declared elected by one vote. 

'' How fares the Star? ” asked Joe. 

Circulation has doubled since I got married. 
You see, I can use wood, groceries, etc., just the 
same as cash, and now that I’ve got a home, the 
people feel that I am going to last, and that the 
paper will not be a shooting Star. Wayne, how is 
Jim Gordon ? ” 

“ I was there early this morning, but was refused 
admittance. They said no one was to see him, but 
I know others have been in. To be frank, I think 
my presence is not desired there. Gordon and I 
were not very friendly, you know.” 

“Yes — I know.” Paragraph’s words were low 
and halting, and he drummed his fingers on the 
window-pane. The others were in another part 
of the room now, and the editor leaned towards 
Wayne and asked : “ Parson, did you ever have 
trouble with Jim Gordon more than once?” 

The minister hesitated. “ Yes,” he said, finally. 
“ I met him in the woods once and he threatened 


SERVED THE WARRANT 345 

me. I told him I had found a thistle in the field 
and named it Jim Gordon, and that if I ever found 
it in my path again I \vould crush it.’’ 

Paragraph sat down by the fire, and, after an 
awkward silence, he remarked that it was glorious, 
the manner in which Willow Township had defeated 
the subsidy proposition. ‘‘ The other company has 
completed its survey and has secured the right of 
way. The grading will be commenced early in the 
spring, and we can ride to the State fair on the 
electric line next fall.” 

The weeks crept by, bringing but few changes 
to the neighborhood. The wild goose had long 
days before honked its lonesome way southward 
across leaden skies, and one morning when Wayne 
awoke he found the familiar landscape altered by 
a heavy fall of snow, for December had chalked its 
name in chilled letters on the calendar. Jap Mun- 
son had renewed his faith in politics after the report 
of the canvassing board, and had begun making 
inquiries concerning the destitute families in his 
jurisdiction. The expert had come down from 
Chicago, and, after inspecting the rocky ledge care- 
fully, had given it as his opinion that, while iron 
undoubtedly was to be found there, it was not in 
paying quantities. And so the secret of the hillside 
slept beneath the caress of Boreas. 

The news from Jim Gordon’s room was meagre. 
A physician from a distance — no one knew just 
where — was in attendance^ and day by day callers 


346 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

were turned away from the door with the uncertain 
information that Jim was “ getting along all right.” 
But John Ormand came frequently, and for him 
jiere was always an invitation to visit the patient. 

A blinding snow-storm swept down from the 
northwest and drove Wayne from his labors in the 
woods. And riding in the teeth of the storm came 
Ward, the marshal. Alighting stiffly from the sad- 
dle, he declined the chore-boy’s suggestion that the 
horse be put in the barn. 

“ Let him stand,” he said. Maybe he won’t 
be here long, and — well, it won’t hurt him to stand 
awhile.” 

He went up to the porch and stood there stamp- 
ing the snow from his shoes. The preacher swung 
open the door. 

“ Come in, man,” he said. “ Never mind the 
snow.” 

“ In a minute. I was just thinking about my 
horse. You see where he’s tied, don’t you. Par- 
son?” 

‘‘ Why, yes, and I was wondering why yoii did 
not put him in the barn.” 

Ward stamped his feet again and glanced at the 
speaker. ‘‘ Oh, just because — well, I might want 
to hurry back to town if the storm gets worse, you 
know, and — and — he’s easy reached there. I 
tied him so that if a man is in a hurry one pull at 
the knot will free the reins. He’s the swiftest horse 
in the county, too, and was never tired in his life.” 
By this time he had entered the house and was 


SERVED THE WARRANT 347 

standing looking about, apparently ill at ease. 
Wayne drew a chair to the fire and motioned to 
it, but Ward shook his head. 

“ Much obliged, Parson, but I don’t care to sit. 
Where’s the Major and Joe?” 

“ Gone to Craigville with some corn. Anything 
I can do for you. Ward?” 

No, I guess not.” He walked to the window 
and looked out. “If a fellow I was after should 
ever get a-straddle of that horse yonder, he’d get 
away sure. Parson.” 

Wayne laughed. “ It’s queer you don’t take bet- 
ter care of him, then. That storm is hard on the 
poor beast.” 

“ Yes, yes, I know it, I know it,” hastily replied 
the marshal. Then he added : “ Say, Parson, you 
don’t mind, do you, if I step out to the pump. I 
— I like water right from the well.” 

“ Certainly not. There’s a tin on the pump.” 

The marshal nodded, and, as he pulled his coat 
about him, he clumsily dropped a paper from his 
pocket and then strode towards the door. 

“ Here’s a paper you dropped, Ward,” called the 
preacher, picking it up from the floor. 

Ward paused, but did not turn his head. “ I’m 
going after a drink. Parson. If any paper is of 
any interest to you, read it while I’m drinking.” 
He opened the door and went out. 

Wayne sat staring after him in wonder. He 
had never heard of Ward being under the influence 
pf liquor, yet his present actions and words could 


348 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

not be credited to any other reason. Then he 
glanced at the paper he held in his hand, and turned 
it over. As he did so, his glance caught his own 
name written there. He spread the paper open, 
and, as his eyes drank in its contents, the color 
faded from his cheeks and his breath came quick. 
What he held in his hand was a warrant for his 
arrest. He laid it down, then snatched it up again, 
and slowly read it aloud, a warrant charging him 
with assault and battery on Jim Gordon with in- 
tent to commit murder! 

What did it mean? Surely no one could believe 
that he had struck down Jim Gordon! And then 
he remembered that there was circumstantial evi- 
dence that might be twisted into unpleasant forms 
by a lawyer. Now it all came to him, why he had 
been so curtly received at Gordon’s, and why so 
much secrecy was maintained around Gordon’s 
room. “ George Morse’s work ! ” he exclaimed, 
springing to his feet and pacing the room. The 
door-knob rattled and then Ward came back into 
the room. He glanced at the preacher and then 
deliberately turned his back and went to the win- 
dow. 

‘‘ I can’t help thinking about that horse out 
there,” he said, without looking around. ‘‘ He 
can’t be caught, I tell you. And, come to think 
of it, I left a little chamois sack containing one 
hundred dollars in greenbacks tied to the saddle- 
horn. Guess I’ll go get another drink. Never was 
so dry in my life.” 


SERVED THE WARRANT 349 

He turned towards the door again, but Wayne 
sprang forward and caught his arm. 

‘‘Ward! In God’s name explain this!” He 
held the warrant before him with shaking hand, 
but the marshal craned his neck, and, ignoring the 
preacher’s words, looked out the window again. 

“ Never was so dry — but the horse ain’t. He’s 
in prime condition for a run.” 

He tried to pull away, but Wayne clung to his 
arm. 

“ Drop it. Ward ! ” he exclaimed. “ I under- 
stand now. You’ve been trying to let me run away 
on your horse. But I will not! Serve your war- 
rant ! ” 

Ward turned towards him and looked steadily 
into his eyes. “ I haven’t served any warrant yet, 
have I ? ” he asked. 

“No, no, — but you must, I tell you ! ” He held 
the paper towards the marshal, but Ward folded 
his arms without touching it. 

“Parson, I — can’t do it! Yonder’s my horse, 
and there’s money on the saddle. Take this chance 
and go ! ” 

“ Again I refuse. Why do you do this ? ” 

The marshal unfolded his arms, and one hand 
made a quick wipe at a tear that had escaped his 
eyes. 

“ Once there was a little girl — and — a — mad 
dog. And — a man — ” 

Wayne stopped him with a gesture. “And for 
that you would turn your back on duty ? *’ he asked. 


350 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

For that I would brave hell if I could serve the 
man ! ” His head was thrown back and his eyes 
were flashing. “ Parson/’ he added, “ by the love 
I bear that little girl, I beg you to take my horse.” 

The preacher gripped the marshal’s hand, but, 
as he clung to it, he said : I cannot — will not 
— do it. I am not guilty.” 

If it was only that — a question of guilt or 
innocence — I wouldn’t have urged you to go. 
But violence sometimes is quicker than law.” 

“ I accept all chances. And now I want to know 
who is back of all this.” 

And I cannot tell you. All I know is that the 
warrant was given me to serve. I would have 
refused and resigned, but I thought I could do you 
more good by taking charge of the paper.” 

“ I’ll saddle another horse and go with you at 
once.” 

And the women folks — what of them ? ” 

The pallor deepened in the preacher’s cheeks, but 
his voice remained steady. “ I’ll explain that I was 
called away on business and will not return tomight. 
After I’ve seen Joe and the Major, they can tell 
the folks here.” 

In a short time they were riding away from the 
Wilson place. The storm was still raging, and they 
rode in silence. Finally the marshal reined close 
in beside his companion (he refused to consider him 
his prisoner) and said: 

“ The jail at Riverside burned down last week, 
you know, and I am supposed to keep — prisoners 



As THEY REACHED THE TOP OF A KIEL HE PAUSED A MOMENT AND TURNED IN HIS SADDLE 

Page 351 




SERVED THE WARRANT 351 

— in the Craigville calaboose, but you’ll stay at my 
house.” 

The preacher raised his eyes, and the look that 
was mirrored therein caused Ward to forget the 
blizzard for a time. But Wayne offered no thanks. 
His heart was too full. 

As they reached the top of a hill he paused a 
moment and turned in his saddle. Night was fast 
closing down, but far away across the waste of snow 
and bleak barrenness he could see the faint outlines 
of the Wilson place. Well he knew that it was at 
this point where the last view could be had on the 
way to town. And now, as he looked, a sudden 
gleam of light flashed from one of the windows, 
and an odd fancy seized him that it was a beacon 
beaming hope to him across a winter of despair. 
Then he settled himself in the saddle and rode on, 
the sting of the snow pellets in his face and the 
bitingly cold lash of the wind about his ears. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


THE MOB 


HE news of Wayne’s arrest caused a whirl- 



wind of discussion in the township. Major 


Wilson for once forgot his dignity and 
raged about like a madman, declaring the entire 
affair a conspiracy and an outrage. Generous, im- 
pulsive Joe said that he would demand an explana- 
tion from Jim Gordon, but when he flung his bridle- 
reins over a post and strode up to the house, he 
was firmly informed that Gordon could not be seen. 
The doctor was with him and had advised perfect 


quiet. 


Jap Munson drove to the office of the Craigville 
Star and fairly ran up the stairs, bursting into the 
office with an impetuosity that caused Paragraph 
to spring from his chair in alarm. Munson 
slammed the door and then turned to the editor. 

“Well, it’s come!” he shouted. 

No explanation of his meaning was needed. 
Paragraph nodded. “ Yes,” he said, “ it’s come. 
But sit down, Jap.” He whirled a chair towards 
his caller and then resumed his seat. 

“ Thunder and lightning, this is no time to wear 


THE MOB 


353 

out chairs!’’ exclaimed Munson, excitedly pacing 
the floor. 

“ This is a time for calmness and deliberate plan- 
ning,” responded Miller, quietly. “ You showed 
yourself to be shrewd when you played a little joke 
on a pair of bloodhounds. Don’t spoil your good 
record now.” 

“ But it’s a lie and an injustice, and I can’t sit 
still while the Parson is in trouble. I’d like to black- 
snake Gordon out of the township.” 

The editor pulled a pencil from his pocket, and 
after deliberately breaking off the point, calmly and 
carefully sharpened it again before replying. 

‘‘ I’m sorry for the Parson myself, Jap, but it 
may not be a lie, nor — well, you remember what 
happened at the barn-warming, Jap, and you re- 
member where the dogs started when they first 
caught the trail. Perhaps Jim Gordon was able 
to — er — recognize the man who stabbed him.” 

Munson paused in front of the editor and stared 
blankly at him. Then he reached for the chair in 
a groping manner and sat down. 

‘‘ Miller, I had forgotten. You may be right. 
But, dern it all, I don’t blame him if he did do it. 
Even a preacher has his limits when it comes to 
putting up with insults.” He tilted his chair back 
against the wall and gazed gloomily at the splutter- 
ing fire. 

“ No, we may not blame him, but the law will. 
We must face the thing, Jap, and fight according 
to law.” 


354 hearts and THE CROSS 

“ Yes, but the law’s a tricky piece of literature,” 
said Jap, “ and it generally goes pretty hard with 
a fellow if he tries to do it square. Derndest coun- 
try a man ever lived in. Ain’t fit for a Comanche 
Indian.” 

Miller smiled. “ Oh, the country will be all 
right as soon as you cool down a little. And as 
for the tricks of the law, there are others besides 
Jim Gordon’s crowd that know a few.” 

After calming Munson, the editor put on his coat, 
and together the two men went to Ward’s house 
and gave Wayne the assurance of their loyal sup- 
port. 

When the news was given to Lorraine by her 
father, she stood white and silent for a moment, 
then took a step, tottered, and would have fallen 
had not his arm caught and supported her. Then 
she went to her room. The next morning she was 
not at her desk in the schoolroom, and a notice 
tacked on the door by Joe said that she was ill. 
Half a week sped by, and Wayne’s imprisonment 
had been such scarcely more than in name, as he 
had lived at Ward’s home and was treated as a 
member of the family, except that he remained 
within the yard. Not an hour of the day passed 
without one or more callers who declared their 
friendship for him. But the verdict was far from 
unanimous. Many there were who nodded their 
heads and looked wise, insisting that the preacher’s 
arrest was not unexpected. ‘‘ A man who hobnobs 
with gypsies has a bad streak some place.” This 


THE MOB 


355 


was the general expression by those who had never 
forgiven the preacher for the part he took in the 
row between Gordon and the gypsy. 

Then one day the marshal came home in the 
middle of the morning, and Wayne saw at a glance 
that something had gone wrong. 

‘‘What's the trouble, Ward?" he asked, as the 
marshal kicked at the wood-box. 

“ Reckon there’s trouble enough," was the re- 
sponse. Then he pulled an official-looking envelope 
from his pocket. “ Here’s a letter from the court 
ordering me to confine you in the town calaboose 
instead of permitting you to stay at my house. 
Some fellow has kicked up trouble, I suppose. Par- 
son, you must have some bitter enemies around 
here." 

Wayne nodded. “Yes, it seems so," he said. 
“ But I am ready to go to the calaboose. Ward." 

The marshal rolled the envelope tightly. “ Of 
course I’ve got to obey," he said. “ I’ll get a stove 
up and a load of wood hauled there, and have it 
comfortable for you this afternoon. It’ll be lone- 
some, as you will be there all alone." 

The preacher laughed. “ That’s all right. I’ll 
not be afraid, for, if I can’t break out, burglars 
can’t break in. Besides, I’ll have my books, I sup- 
pose, and with books and my pipe I’ll get along all 
right." 

The Craigville town prison, or “ calaboose," as 
it was generally called, stood at the edge of the 
town somewhat removed from surrounding build- 


356 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

ings. It was a frame structure of two rooms, the 
larger one being the prison proper, and the smaller 
one being a sort of an office-room. A heavy oak 
door, protected on the prison side with sheet iron, 
connected the two rooms, while an opening about 
two feet square, heavily barred, permitted conver- 
sation between them. A thick shutter of heavy 
sheet iron covered this, being swung on hinges to 
permit of it being raised during interviews with 
the prisoners. It had been found necessary to place 
a stove in the prison portion, as the room could 
not be warmed from the office. A barred window 
on the east and one on the west admitted light. 
Into this place Ward moved a good cot, a centre- 
table, some chairs, and a clock, and by sundown 
Wayne was established in the prison. 

The marshal, Jake Hausman, and the editor sat 
late with him that night, talking plans for his de- 
fense. He was to have a preliminary hearing on 
the morrow, and had declined to consult an at- 
torney until after that event. Finally, the party 
was compelled to bid him good night. 

“ ril not bar the door,’' said Ward, but Wayne 
insisted that it be done. 

“I’ll not leave if you do allow the bars to remain 
down,” he said, “ and they might as well be up. 
It’s your duty. And put the shutter up to that place, 
too.” He pointed to the opening between the two 
rooms, and after many expostulations Ward with- 
drew. 

Left alone, Wayne lighted his pipe and opened 


THE MOB 


357 


a book, but the lines remained unread. His 
thoughts were in the Wilson farmhouse, and mem- 
ory brought to him the soft words of a fair singer. 
At last he aroused and saw that the coal no longer 
glowed in the bowl of his pipe. He laid it aside 
and went to bed. The night was biting cold and 
the wind moaned about the building, but, as he 
lay, a splash of moonlight came through the win- 
dow, and, as he gazed at it sprawled on the floor 
by his cot, an ache shot to his heart as he noted 
the dark streaks — the shadow of the bars. 

Breakfast was brought, smoking hot, by the mar- 
shal, and while the two men sat talking, the latch 
was raised and in plunged Dickson, the lawyer. 
With outstretched hand he strode through the office 
into the prison room and grasped the hand of the 
preacher. 

‘‘ How on earth did you get here at such an 
hour?” queried Wayne, before the other could 
speak. 

‘‘ Drove through from Riverside,” replied Dick- 
son. 

Whew ! ” exclaimed Ward. ‘‘ And the mercury 
below zero ! ” 

“ I told Wayne the day would never be too cold 
nor the road too long for me to do him a service, 
and I’m here to keep my word, if possible. Have 
you a lawyer? ” he asked, turning to Wayne. 

“No, I concluded to conduct my own defense 
at the preliminary, and then be guided by what 
developed.” 


358 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

Dickson threw off his overcoat and sat down by 
the fire. “ I just got back to Riverside last night 
from Chicago, and heard then of your trouble. I 
was on my way here at daylight, and Fm going 
to take charge of your case, by your leave.^’ 

Ward slapped his thigh enthusiastically. By 
George, Dickson, but Fm glad to hear you say it! 
I’m going out now, and Fll leave you with the 
Parson.” He hesitated a moment. “ I suppose 
I’ll have to fasten you in,” he added. He went 
out, and to those of Wayne’s friends he met he 
gave the information that the best lawyer in the 
county was managing his case. 

An hour later, when the marshal returned, Dick- 
son told him he was not ready to leave, and for 
him to return again in an hour. And when he 
finally did take his leave, he shook hands warmly 
with Wayne and went out whistling a merry tune. 
The lawyer went to the justice of the peace before 
whom the preliminary was to be held, and an- 
nounced that his client waived this. Major Wilson, 
who had driven into town, protested, but Dickson’s 
counsel prevailed. 

“ It’s a mere formality in this instance,” he said. 
‘‘ John Ormand is back of this, and he owns that 
justice. No defense could do any good, so we’ll 
waive preliminary and avoid disclosing our plan of 
defense for the big trial.” 

The old man announced his willingness to give 
any bond required, but the dispenser of justice re- 
fused to accept any bond '' until the extent of Gor- 


THE MOB 


359 


don’s injuries could be ascertained,” as he said, 
and produced a written statement from the strange 
physician that the result of Gordon’s wounds was 
still in doubt. 

This phase of the case was entirely unexpected 
by Dickson, but he did no more than enter a formal 
protest, which he knew would be unavailing. The 
Major was filled with wrath, but a warning look 
from the lawyer caused him to hold his tongue. 
“No better evidences of a conspiracy could be 
given me,” said Dickson, as they went back to the 
little prison. 

The Wilson place was plunged in gloom. The 
old mother took down her Bible a little oftener, 
perhaps, and a little more frequently her devout 
song was heard. In her gentle way she had de- 
clared her faith in the preacher’s innocence, and 
daily she prayed that God might reveal the truth. 
Lorraine did not discuss the case, but went about 
her affairs silently, a shadow in her eyes. And, 
after the first outburst on the part of the Major, 
he had little to say except that the accused man 
should not suffer for lack of money. And to Dick- 
son he gave orders that no clue was to be left un- 
investigated because of expense. Then he remained 
close at home and sat by the fire, his proud head 
bowed in his hands, for the lawyer told him that 
Wayne was hedged about by circumstantial evi- 
dence that of itself would cause great difficulty in 
securing an acquittal, and these circumstances, to- 
gether with Gordon’s sworn statement that, during 


360 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

the brief struggle that night in the woods, he had 
clearly recognized Robert Wayne before the blow 
was struck, constituted a strong case. 

On Sunday there was no preaching in the little 
church at Walnut Grove, but in the afternoon Joe, 
who had driven into town soon after breakfast, 
returned with Bess Craig in the sleigh beside him, 
and close behind came Paragraph and Susanna. 
Then life seemed to return to the house once more, 
for the editor, noting the dejection that had settled 
upon the household, exerted himself to restore 
laughter there. 

To the old man’s inquiry as to the financial health 
of the Star, he declared that its pulse was strong. 
“No community can be happy without a newspa- 
per,” he said. “ Centuries ago, when the civilization 
of the Egyptians was in its cradle, whenever a man 
felt mighty impulses surging within him, he rushed 
out into the desert and carved his thoughts on a 
pyramid, or else he crawled into uncanny tombs 
and scratched his eternal message there. With the 
sunrise of the twentieth century in his face, a man,' 
when he feels the gnawing of this chronicling desire, 
reaches for a telephone and tells his troubles to a 
newspaper reporter, and then reads all about him- 
self in the next issue, with perhaps a few illustra- 
tions to interest the little ones. The modern news- 
paper is an institution that men cannot do without.” 

“ Then you think the modern newspaper beats 
a pyramid, do you ? ” asked Lorraine, smiling. 

The editor held up one finger. “ I would speak 


THE MOB 


361 

with reverence of the pyramids, the obelisks, and 
the tombs of Pharaoh’s land. Their messages were 
and are for the ages, and out of the darkness of 
antiquity they have spoken to us, have whispered 
the secrets of brooding centuries, but the message 
of the modern newspaper is for to-day, for the 
eternal present.” 

“ And the response to this message is a charge 
of yellow journalism,” said Joe. 

“You are not entirely wrong. We do hear much 
about ‘ yellowism.’ I knew of a preacher once who 
became out of humor with the modern newspaper, 
and finally decided that Christ would not do things 
in the ‘ sensational ’ manner of the newspapers, so 
he announced that for one week he would run a 
newspaper as Christ would run it. The result was 
an insipid, colorless affair that represented nothing 
but crankism. I read of another preacher who 
longed to conduct an ideal newspaper, which, he 
said, would ‘ avoid sensationalism, educate the read- 
ers, represent the conscience of the American peo- 
ple, and fearlessly express it.’ The trouble with 
that chap is that he is too slow ; the modern news- 
paper has already occupied the field he is attempt- 
ing to stake off.” 

“ William, I expect they are tired of hearing your 
views on newspapers,” interposed Susanna. 

“ And, no doubt, you think they are impatient 
to hear your views on millinery and whether this 
piece of goods should be cut on the bias and 
trimmed with applique or some other flubdubbery.” 


362 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

There was a general laugh at this retort, and 
then Paragraph arose and bowed humbly before 
his wife. 

'' Starbeam, I meant no rudeness,’’ he said. 
‘‘ The newspaper is the best friend of the ladies, 
for it tells of the fashions as well as of other af- 
fairs.” 

“ Then vive la newspaper T said Lorraine, 
gravely. 

“ A noble sentiment tersely put,” said the editor. 
‘‘ The modern newspaper is the friend of mankind. 
It is aggressive in the cause of right, and carries 
on a ceaseless battle for the best and truest in life; 
it points mankind from the tomb of superstition to 
the cradle of true reverence; it lashes the evil-doer 
and applauds the faithful one. And as for sensa- 
tionalism, what is it? A will-o’-the-wisp that ap- 
pears frequently on men’s tongues, but which defies 
location in their brains. Christ's crucifixion was 
sensational. A minister may declare a theory in 
the strongest and most vivid language at his com- 
mand, and his flock will laud him as ‘ a man of 
fervid eloquence ; ’ a newspaper may clothe a fact 
in terse, crisp descriptive sentences, but if the editor 
head-lines it in keeping with the busy age, his paper 
is ‘ yellow.’ In the old days, when Time rode on 
ox-carts, the newspaper reader had time to sit by 
the fireside with his pipe and his mug, and carefully 
and methodically search the newspaper for the most 
important happenings. It is not so with the reader 
of the modern newspaper. Time travels on the 


THE MOB 


363 

wings of the lightning, and the stock-ticker pleads 
for the reader's attention; the swirl of business is 
tugging at the fibres of his soul, and, as he swallows 
his coffee and rolls, he must see at a glance the 
important happenings of the world, and then he 
must dash for the office. The modern newspaper 
has not made the stock-ticker nor the multitudes 
of other incidents of modern business life, but it 
has lived up to them." 

And what of the modern editor ? " asked Bess 
Craig. 

Paragraph sighed. ‘‘ Ah, sad is his lot," he said. 
“ He is caricatured by budding artists, driven to 
desperation by long-haired poets, maligned by grin- 
ning humorists — and sued by the man with a fan- 
cied grievance. Trouble plows furrows across 
his forehead, and the frailties and hypocrisies of the 
world march in never-ending procession past his 
desk, and as he winnows them he pens editorials 
filled with learning, the learning that is born of 
listening intently to the heart-beats of the world, 
as well as that learning which comes of turning one 
by one the leaves of many books." 

The evening came crisp but clear, the early win- 
ter twilight quickly giving place to the radiance of 
the full moon. After supper the party assembled 
in the parlor, where the hours were sped merrily 
with songs, riddle, and jest, as is the custom with 
the country folk of old Indiana. Wayne's trouble 
was frequently referred to, but Paragraph lightened 
their hearts by declaring with emphasis that it 


364 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

would all come out right, as Dickson was a marvel 
of shrewdness. Dave’s a natural born detective, 
as well as a lawyer,” he said. “ And he never lets 
up until it’s all over.” 

The old clock in mellow tones told the hour of 
ten, and Mrs. Wilson said it was time for her to 
retire. She left the room, and a moment later they 
heard the words of her favorite hymn softly sung. 
As the song ended, the Major arose and also bade 
the young people good night. Then Paragraph 
and Joe went to the barn, and in a short time drove 
up with the sleighs. Bess and Susanna from the 
depths of their furs shouted good-nights to Lor- 
raine, and ran down to the gate. The robes were 
tucked about them, and in a moment they were off 
for Craigville, the bells jingling musically, and the 
runners- flying over the hard-packed snow. 

As the sound of the sleigh-bells died away, Lor- 
raine turned back into the house and went to her 
room. She stood for a moment gazing out of the 
window at the world of white, the bright moonlight 
causing every object to stand forth distinctly. Then 
she went to her trunk and sank to her knees before 
it. Unlocking it, she drew forth the photograph 
that Wayne had found hidden in a book some weeks 
before. For an instant she gazed at the fair fea- 
tures there pictured, and then, pressing it to her 
lips, she rested her head on her arms and burst into 
tears. 

But the beauty of the night touched her soul, 
and again she stood at the window, the moonlight. 


THE MOB 


365 

“ the smile of God,” she called it, streaming into 
her room. Wee voices called to her from the glory 
of the white-gowned fields. A thousand burning 
thoughts were surging through her brain; the joy 
and the sorrow of the past were rioting, curiously 
intermingled, and on her heart an ache lay heavy. 
And still the smile of God on the snow was wooing 
her, and gradually she harked to the tuneful piping 
of a sentiment. Down yonder, a short distance 
across the fields and close by the woods, the old 
foot-log was spanning Willow Creek, and there, in 
the evenings of summer, she had been accustomed 
to take her sorrows. With old Willow Creek slip- 
ping along beneath her feet, rest had always come 
to her heart. Why not now? She would have 
dismissed the thought, but the smile of God was 
on the snow, and the wee voice seemed whispering 
the question to her again and again : “ Why not 
now ? ” “ Why not now ? ” 

She looked at her watch. It was 10.30. Her 
parents, she knew, were asleep, and she was certain 
that Joe would not return for an hour or more. 
A breath of fresh air, a brisk walk across the fields, 
a few moments on the old foot-log! It was entic- 
ing, and so easy! With a sudden resolve, she 
snatched her heavy wraps, bundled her furs about 
her shoulders and head, and turned towards the 
door. But as her hand rested on the knob, she 
hesitated a moment, and then, turning back, opened 
a case on her bureau and dropped a small silver- 
mounted revolver into her pocket, smiling as she 


366 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

did so. Then she noiselessly opened the outer door 
and stepped forth into the night and the smile of 
God. The crisp air filled her lungs and sent the 
blood bounding through her veins as she walked 
briskly along. A rabbit sprang out of a fence cor- 
ner and scudded away with great leaps. She passed 
along the edge of the woods, and a sudden gust of 
wind sighed through the bare branches, sifting snow 
in her face. The shadows of the trees lay in dark 
splotches on the snow, like the finger-prints of Sin 
on a life of purity. The bark of a farm dog came 
faintly to her ears, and among the shadows of the 
woods the dropping of dead twigs and the rustle 
of a stray leaf made strange noises. But the foot- 
log lay before her. 

Old friend, you should feel honored by my 
visit at such a time,” she said, and laughed at her 
conceit. The snow covered the hand-rail, but she 
brushed it away and patted the time-worn timber 
as she spoke. 

The willows were bending low beneath their 
snow burden, and, with the exception of a small 
current in the centre, the waters of the creek were 
stilled in the embrace of winter, the narrow channel 
showing dark in contrast with the glistening white 
of the snowy ice that bordered it. The air, though 
crisp, was tempered by that peculiar quality that 
precedes a thaw. She leaned on the rail and 
watched the water swirling in its jagged, narrow 
channel. 

A vein of liquid truth, a sentiment that knows 


THE MOB 


367 

no winter, or, knowing adversity’s chill, refuses to 
be stayed in its flow.” She smiled, and then added : 

That may be nonsense, Mr. Creek, but in my heart 
it is understood. The ice and the snow are all about 
my heart, Mr. Creek, but there is a current there 
that defies the chill.” 

She moved along the log, and then stopped with 
a slight exclamation. Plainly visible in the snow 
were a man’s footprints, leading towards the oppo- 
site bank. She stooped to examine them, and then 
noted that two men had passed that way. It was 
evident that the tracks had been made recently. 

“ Sherlock Holmes probably could tell the color 
of their hair, and whether they were bank presi- 
dents or chicken thieves — but I can’t.” 

She was in a gayer mood, but her levity was of 
short duration, for a sharp whistle sounded in the 
woods ahead of her, and was answered immediately 
by a whistle just over the bluff on the farther side 
of the creek. Hastily turning, she sped back across 
the foot-log, and, as she reached the bank, she 
darted into the shadows, for voices were heard. 
As she looked back, she saw two men come down 
the bluff to the log. She turned to run, but a dry 
stick broke beneath her weight with a loud report. 
She saw the men stop and look intently in her direc- 
tion. Flight undetected was impossible. The dry 
branches lay thick beneath the snow, and the noise 
of their breaking as she ran would certainly betray 
her. She saw them start across the log, and care- 
fully she picked her way to a giant oak close at 


368 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

hand, and then, standing in its shadow, she pressed 
her body against its trunk. She peered out. 
Would they notice her tracks? The moon had 
dipped considerably lower and much of the foot- 
log was now in shadow, a fact she noted with glad- 
ness. The men were now across the creek, but had 
stopped a moment on the end of the foot-log. They 
were garbed in long, heavy overcoats and slouch 
hats, and — was that dark surface beneath their 
hats but shadow, or was it a mask? They came 
on, and she shrank back. Then there was an oath 
and they stopped again. 

‘‘Here, tie this damned mask on. It’s coming off.” 

“ Well, what’s the use of wearin’ ’em yet? ” was 
the response. 

“ Moonlight isn’t good for the complexion.” 
The reply was in a drawling tone. “ I don’t care 
to take any chances of being recognized.” 

The girl shook as with a chill, and then her hands 
were suddenly clasped to her head as though a 
blow had been struck her. The gruff words of one 
of the men had almost wrung a cry from her lips. 

“ Think we’ll have any trouble gettin’ that 
preacher ? ” 

“ None at all,” was the drawling response. 
“ The boys can — tie that a little tighter — batter 
down the door of that flimsy calaboose easy, and 
then drag the sneak out in a hurry. There’ll be 
no trouble, and when daylight comes the Rev. 
Wayne will be — ” 

“ Supposing Bill Ward shows up ? ” 


THE MOB 


369 

“ But he won’t, I tell you. He’s — can’t you 
make that thing hold? — in Riverside. I had a 
game worked to get him there.” 

“ And Gordon — ” 

“ Is waiting to hear the news of the attack on 
the jail by sympathizing fellow citizens. Here, take 
my knife and punch another hole in that cussed 
rag. With Wayne’s goose cooked, Jim will recover 
rapidly. He wasn’t hurt as bad as they thought. 
That knife took a lucky course. Jim’s up and 
around the room — but the dear people don’t know 
it. The first time I saw him after he was hurt, 
I showed him how this game could be worked, 
and he grabbed at it. It’s been a tonic to him.” 

“ There, now. I’ll bet a hog that crinoline won’t 
come off.” 

‘‘ Well, let’s be getting out of here, then. We 
ought to have the gang at the jail by the time the 
moon goes down. Damn that Wayne, I’ll be 
glad — ” The words were lost as the men moved 
away. 

Lorraine was trembling, and leaned against a tree 
for support, an agony of fear raging in her bosom. 
The plot was clear to her, clear as the moonlight 
and cold as the ice. Wayne was to be mobbed, 
and Jim Gordon was a party to the plot. And she 
was helpless to prevent the devilish scheme from 
being executed. Then a thought flashed to her. 
Jim Gordon ! He was the cause of it all, and per- 
haps he could end it all. They had said that he 
was able to be up and around, and that he was wait- 


370 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

ing at that moment. Peering cautiously out to see 
that the men had gone, she ran to the foot-log, 
crossed the creek, and plunged into the woods. By 
going through the timber it was but a short dis- 
tance to Gordon’s house, and, heedless of the treach- 
erous branches beneath the snow that tripped her, 
often causing her to fall prostrate, she hurried on. 
Once she stumbled, and, staggering forward, struck 
her forehead against a tree. The shock stunned her 
for a moment, but she steadied herself by grasping 
the tree. Then she went on. Something warm 
trickled down into her eyes and blinded her, and, 
when sh§ looked at the handkerchief she had pressed 
to her eyes, she saw that it was stained with blood. 
Up one more hill she toiled, and then the Gordon 
place lay before her. 

As she approached the house, she was gratified 
to see a light in an upper window and also one 
in the kitchen. It was a bold move she had under- 
taken, but the thought of what was soon to take 
place in Craigville sent her quickly to the door, and 
her knock was firm. She heard a chair dragged 
across the floor, a heavy tread, and then the door 
was opened by a man with a bald head and a hawk- 
like nose, who stood blinking at her. It was John- 
son, the electric-line attorney. 

“ Come in, whoever you are,” he said. “ I’m too 
old to stand with the door open in winter.” 

The girl entered the room, and, as she stepped 
into the light, Johnson blinked his watery eyes at 
her more energetically than ever. 


THE MOB 


371 


This is surprising/’ he said. ‘‘ My eyes are 
bad, but I can see that you are young. A man 
may be unable to distinguish an elephant from a 
sea-gull, but he can locate youth with one eye. He 
may — ” 

“ Could I speak to Mrs. Gordon ? ” 

“ Sorry, but the old folks are in Indianapolis.” 

She clasped her hands. Then I must see Mr. 
Jim Gordon at once.” 

‘‘ Well, this is surprising. Young lady comes — ” 

‘‘Never mind!” she exclaimed. “I must see 
Mr. Gordon.” 

“ Don’t believe he’s able to — ” 

She stamped her foot in a sudden fury of impa- 
tience. “ I know you are lying I Go to Jim Gordon 
at once and tell him that — that — Lorraine Wil- 
son wishes to speak to him. Hurry, I tell you ! ” 

Johnson hesitated a moment, blinking at a rapid 
rate, and then turned away, muttering that it was 
“ surprising, very surprising.” In a few moments 
he came back. “ He says he’ll see you. Miss. Up 
that stairway.” 

She brushed past the half-blind attorney and hur- 
ried up the stairway. A light shone over the tran- 
som of a near-by room and she knocked at the door, 
but the sense of her compromising position weighed 
heavily on her now, and the rap was hesitating. 

“ Come in!” 

There was no time for consideration of conven- 
tionalities, and she opened the door and entered 
the room. Jim Gordon sat, fully dressed, in an 


372 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

armchair before the fire. His face lacked color, 
but that he had regained considerable strength was 
shown by the steadiness with which he arose to his 
feet and bowed to her. 

“ Sit down,’' he said, indicating a chair. “ This 
call is very unexpected, and I am sorry to see that 
there is blood on your face.” 

‘‘ It is nothing ! ” she exclaimed, touching her 
bruised brow. Then she faced him, with a sudden 
terror reflecting in her eyes. “ Jim Gordon, water 
will remove this blood from my face, but if you 
permit your hands to be stained with blood, eter- 
nity will not remove it ! The fires of hell will burn 
it into your soul ! ” 

A deeper pallor blanched his face, and he grasped 
the back of the chair unsteadily. “I — don’t un- 
derstand your — ” 

‘‘ I haven’t time for evasions,” she interrupted. 
“ You know that at this minute masked men are on 
their way to Craigville to mob Mr. Wayne.” He 
attempted to speak, but she stopped him. You 
can prevent this if you will. Even if he is guilty, 
he is entitled to justice. They will murder , him 
in your name ! ” 

‘‘ I will not admit that I know anything of what 
you are speaking, but I am sure that even if that 
man is visited by regulators, they will do nothing 
more than give him a few lashes and perhaps a 
uniform of tar and feathers.” 

‘‘Regulators? Murderers, Jim Gordon, and in 
your name ! ” Then her self-control suddenly broke. 


THE MOB 


373 


and she dropped to her knees, her arms outstretched 
appealingly. “ Save him, oh, for God’s sake, save 
him ! ” she sobbed. 

Gordon drew back, and, taking his hand from 
the chair, stood looking at her coldly. “ So, you 
plead for him, do you ? ” A sneer was in his tone. 
“ Major Wilson’s daughter tramps through the 
snow in the night and suffers the blood to flow 
from her wounds that she may beg for her lover! 
And such a lover! A nobody from nowhere! An 
escaped convict — ” 

“ It’s a lie ! ” she moaned. 

‘‘ An assassin who creeps through the woods in 
the night to — ” 

“ Stop ! ” she pleaded. 

“ Sink his knife in the back of a man who loved 
his sweetheart ! ” Then his eyes blazed with a 
sudden passion, and he stepped forward and stood 
over her, his hands working convulsively. “ But 
listen to me! Before daylight that hound will pay 
the price. I’ll admit that I know of what is to 
take place, but you dare not tell that I know. Do 
you understand? Breathe to a soul that you were 
in this house to-night and your name will pay the 
forfeit! You are here alone with two men! You 
understand ? I have loved you, — yes, and still 
love you, — but if you will not be mine, he shall 
not claim you. I love you, but if I writhe in hell, 
I will still smile when I remember that you are not 
in his arms.” 

The girl cowered on the floor before him, her 


374 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

hands to her face, but as he paused she looked 
up at him through her tears. 

“ Mercy, Jim ! Is there no mercy in your 
heart?” 

He had turned away, but wheeled suddenly, and 
his hand clutched at his heart. '‘Mercy? What 
mercy have you shown me while my heart, my soul, 
shrieked in agony? For years I have dreamed of 
you as my wife, but my love has seared my soul 
and left a scar for my heart. And you — ” 

She arose quickly to her feet, and he paused. 
For a moment she stood thus, facing him, the tears 
no longer flowing. Then she spoke, and her tones 
were hard and even, but so low as to be scarcely 
audible. 

“ Listen, Jim. You say you love me and have 
dreamed of me as your wife. Unless you save him, 
the mob will murder Robert Wayne. If you love 
me, stop this work of assassination, and then ” — 
she caught the back of the chair — “ and then come 
to me — and — claim me as — your wife.” 

A quick gasp, and Gordon was at her side, but 
his hands did not touch her. “ You mean it? You 
will be my wife ? ” 

“ Yes.” The reply was almost a whisper. 

“ And you love me, Lorraine, — you love me? ” 
His voice was eager and his gaze was hot. 

“ I will be your wife,” she answered, and she still 
clung to the chair. 

A bitter laugh broke from his lips, and fury again 
shone in his eyes. “No!” he exclaimed. “No! 


THE MOB 


375 

I may be a fool, I may be a devil at times, but I 
want no wife who loves another. But this night 
will remove that other.’' He laughed again. “ The 
fiends in hell will sing my welcome, but I’ll be 
happy ! I’ll be happy ! ” 

Without a word she turned toward the door, but 
he sprang forward and barred her way. 

And now ? ” he asked. 

“ I shall arouse the neighborhood. There may 
yet be time.” 

He shook his head. “ No,” he said. “ You’ll 
do nothing of the sort. You’ll not leave this room 
for an hour, and then you’ll not say a word about 
being here. You know why.” 

‘‘ You would use force? ” she asked, retreating a 
step. 

‘‘ Yes. You shall not leave.” 

Her brain whirled, but as her arms dropped help- 
lessly at her sides, her hand touched something in 
her pocket, and in an instant hope and resolution 
flamed in her eyes. With a quick movement, she 
drew the revolver and leveled it at the man before 
her. No more weakness, no more indecision, no 
more faltering ! Her hand was steady, and the eye 
that glanced along the bright barrel was clear and 
cold as the stars in the wintry sky. Gordon stared 
into the muzzle of the weapon in surprise. 

What — do you mean ? ” he asked. 

I mean that I shall leave here ! ” was the reply. 

‘‘You would not kill me?” 

Before God, I swear that if you do not stand! 


376 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

aside, I will shoot you down ! ” Her words came 
with a rush and were tense with resolution. 

Quick ! ” she demanded, as he wavered. 

He noted the lines tightening about her mouth, 
and, as he still hesitated, he saw the small, white 
finger curving closer about the trigger. Great 
drops of sweat started out on his forehead. Then 
a pistol-shot rang out, but he had leaped aside as 
he saw the trigger moving, and the ball crashed 
through the door. 

Great God! ” he gasped, but the girl jerked the 
door open and ran down the stairs, the smoking 
pistol still clutched in her hand. At the foot of the 
stairs she met Johnson, but easily dodged past him, 
and in a moment was in the yard. 

Munson’s house was a mile down the road, and 
she decided that he was the man to arouse first. 
She hurried down the road, and then, noting that 
the moon was fast dropping, she began running. 
The road was beaten hard and smooth and her hopes 
rose. Now the house was close at hand ; she could 
see it plainly; but as she ran her foot slipped on 
a bit of ice and she fell heavily in the road. As 
she attempted to rise, an agony of pain shot through 
her right ankle and she sank down with a cry. The 
house was so near, she must reach it! Once more 
she made the attempt, only to sink down fainting 
from the pain of a badly sprained ankle. 

Jap Munson, trustee, had sat up late figuring on 
the number of people in his township who were in 
need of aid. When he had gone to bed, his dreams 



As HE STIEL HESITATED, HE SAW THE SMAEE, WHITE FINGER 
CURVING CEOSER ABOUT THE TRIGGER. — Page 376. 




•</>L 


mjpk 








1-5’ 

*•< *‘Vr\ 


i: V. A i< 






» * • 


-3™ ‘ ' ■ ■ - 

[,^fi- :t •• >• 

5t' • ' ' ■ ';i ^ * ‘tt 


it 


:v 




>•. 


(k 


* wV 


fA' 


5^S^.r; H- ■ . -1 




wte* . " ■ »• 

’“tV « ' , 

i. 6-'-H.yIs- >♦ ‘ i. ^ tC- »* 


-/ 


n .l'* 




. --1^ ■ 




.-•<» • V 




T. 


I * 

r .' i 


‘ ?i' 


> • 


v*. 


'4 ■ ::v4da 

‘ ■■ -■^ 


-2-. 




4 


•'ft. 


u _ . 


'at'ftii >:■; 

■ ■ 


1> 


•v' V - 


A -. - 


■■ *1 




* ■# 




^ <* 


'i 1^4* AT - ^f*i' \i " * 

rss.'^ ■■-*■■■. .;•" "■■ 




r I. 






* . <-• 




# : 


At* * 


^'‘^" f. 


Ul- 


>-! 








|ft«- HI* 


* » ■ -* • 

.1 f ^ . 




I Stjj S . 5 
4 - ^•' • 


M«g-V^t 

^'T ' 




Ai * 


tt 


'■■ •''■‘S.' v^fcsrj 


‘>i- jy 


V 




:^'’.')^'J:!;' ,',. ,ij^ ■ ■ 

• “ --i -■'{•’ 'i'i 


f:r.^i<;"’ 

‘ ■ A 


^ ^'r' 





»4 'll 


t*~ V 








■.1*^ 


»’ i l. 




i3i^ 


DU 


^ -ik-: 




THE MOB 


377 


were disturbed by a mighty array of paupers who 
marched in spectral procession past his pillow. 
With their cries and sobs in his ears, he awoke, 
and then rubbed his eyes vigorously, for it seemed 
not a dream, after all. Surely that was a cry and 
not a dream ! He shook his wife. 

“ Seems to me I hear some one calling,” he said. 

Must be Elihu’s neuralgia, or Johnny’s rheu- 
matiz. Better go for a doctor, Jasper.” 

“ Huh ! It wasn’t that. Jemimy, there it is, sure 
enough ! ” 

Some one was beating on the door, and they 
heard a faint voice calling them. Munson bounced 
out of bed and jerked on his trousers. 

Do be careful, Jasper. Maybe it’s a trick to 
get you to the door and rob you. The Star told 
of a case just that way last week.” But the wiry 
little man had hurried to the door. As he opened 
it, he gasped with surprise, for a woman lay on the 
doorstep, and as she raised her head he saw that 
it was Lorraine Wilson. 

Calling to his wife, Munson picked the girl up 
and carried her into the house and laid her on a 
lounge, but even as he did this she was telling her 
story of the mob that was going to Craigville, and 
how she had crawled through the snow to the house 
after she had revived from her fainting spell in the 
road. 

Munson pulled on his boots with feverish haste, 
and then turn things topsy-turvy in his search for 
his coat. 


378 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

“ What are you going to do, Jasper? asked his 
wife, busying herself in the application of liniments 
and bandages to the swollen ankle. 

“ Coin’ to Craigville, of course, fast as a horse 
can take me, soon as I rout out some fellows along 
the way.” 

“ But do be careful. You haven’t a gun of any 
kind, you know,” she insisted. 

Munson snorted in disgust. “ Who in thunder 
wants a gun? Ain’t I got my blacksnake?” He 
pulled his cap down over his ears, snatched the 
whip from the hook reserved especially for it (con- 
sidering it too valuable to be left in the barn), and 
then turned to the girl, who lay quietly weeping. 

“ Keep up your nerve. Lorry,” he said. “ They 
sha’n’t touch the Parson. Old Blacky (shaking his 
whip) will bite ’em.” Then he bolted for the stable. 

His wife jumped up and ran to the door. ‘‘ Good 
for you, Jasper ! ” she called. And don’t forget 
I’m proud of you ! ” 

A few minutes later they heard the beat of hoofs 
on the road, and as the wife stepped to the door 
she saw her husband, bending low on the bare back 
of a horse, flash by. 

When Joe and Paragraph drove into Craigville, 
the editor shouted a good-night and turned off to 
his own home, while Joe drove on to the Craig 
home. He was not cold, but of course did not 
decline Bess’s invitation to go in and get warm. 
The parlor was cozy, the fire was cheerful, and 
Bess was adorable, so it was not surprising that 


THE MOB 


379 


the clock was threatening to strike the hour of one 
when Joe again stepped into the sleigh. He 
hummed a merry tune, because Bess had whispered 
a date to him when she would become his wife. 
But, as he was turning towards home, the thought 
of Wayne flashed into his mind. 

“ Poor chap,” he muttered, and then turned 
sharply to the right and drove in the direction of 
the calaboose. Guess I’ll drive past and be so- 
ciable, even if he is asleep.” 

The little calaboose stood a short distance back 
from the road, but there was no fence around it, 
so the young farmer turned his horse off from the 
road and drove towards it in order to pay tribute 
to a sentiment. The prison was dark, and he would 
have driven on but at that moment he saw two 
men dodge back of the building. 

“ Whoa ! ” He pulled up sharp, and studied a 
moment. What were the men doing there? What 
should he do? 

“ Hello, back there ! ” he called, but there was no 
response. He twitched the lines and drove to the 
corner of the building, but no one was there. An- 
other moment of indecision. Should he — There 
was a sound behind him, and as he looked around 
two men were at the sides of the sleigh, and in the 
hand of one something glittered in the moonlight. 
Joe stung the horse with the whip, but one of the 
men caught the bridle, stopping the animal’s plunge 
forward. Dropping the lines, the stalwart young 
farmer rose to his feet to give battle, but the other 


38 o hearts and THE CROSS 

man had clambered over the back of the sleigh, 
and the muzzle of a revolver was thrust into his 
face. 

‘‘ Be quiet or you’ll get hurt ! ” was the sharp 
command. Joe was not a coward, but he saw the 
uselessness of resistance, and he obeyed the order. 
He saw that his captors were masked. 

‘‘ What is the meaning of this ? ” he asked, 
quietly. 

Good for you, young fellow. You talk like a 
man and not like a whimpering kid. It means that 
we insist on your society for awhile, but that you 
won’t be hurt if you behave.” There was admira- 
tion in his tone. 

“All right; I’ve decided to visit you.” Joe 
smiled in spite of the seriousness of the affair. 

Without further words he was bound and a cloth 
was thrust, not unkindly, into his mouth as a gag. 
Then the sleigh was driven to a near-by stable, and 
the young farmer was carried in and laid on the 
hay. The men hunted around and found a number 
of horse blankets, which they wrapped about him. 

“ Don’t want you to get cold,” one of them said, 
and tucked him down into the hay and blankets as 
carefully as he would a child. Then the men took 
their positions in front of the stable, stamping up 
and down to keep warm, and occasionally circling 
about the calaboose. 

“ If any fellow turns traitor, he’ll not succeed 
in stealing our man out of here, that’s sure,” said 
one. 


THE MOB 


381 

Half an hour passed; the moon was hanging 
on the western horizon. A man rode up to the 
stable, and soon another came, and then another 
and another, until ten were assembled, each wear- 
ing a mask. There were but few words. Their 
horses were tied in the shadows, and, after a whis- 
pered consultation, six of the men hurried away 
in the direction of the railroad, and soon returned 
bearing a heavy cross-tie. Another moment of con- 
sultation, and then the leader led the way to the 
calaboose, and as he walked a limp was noticeable. 

Wayne was awakened by a shock that caused 
every board of his frail prison to vibrate. He 
sprang from his cot and listened. Again came that 
awful shock, and he heard the outer door of the 
building splintering. Then the terrible truth 
dawned upon him, and the realization of his help- 
lessness caused his cheeks to blanch. Voices were 
heard now, a command was given, and the next 
instant the door gave way with a crash, and he 
heard men rushing into the office-room. There 
were muttered exclamations, but no shouts or loud 
words were heard. It was evident that the mob 
was cool and calm in its devilish purpose. The 
preacher stood in the middle of the floor, his teeth 
hard set, his hands clenched, every nerve, every 
muscle at the highest tension. Once he thought of 
shouting for help, but the hopelessness of it was 
apparent, and he knew that such a sign of weakness 
on his part would afford his assailants the keenest 
delight. He had not dreamed that his enemies 


382 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

would go to such lengths, but now that the deadly 
peril had come, he determined to meet it like a man, 
as a minister of God should meet it. There was 
a sound of fumbling at the connecting door. 

“ Bring in that tie,’’ he heard some one command, 
and by the tramping of feet he knew that it was 
being done. In a few moments the slight barrier 
would be battered down, they would pour in on 
him, and then — He sprang to the stove and 
snatched up the heavy iron poker, and then the 
door received the shock of the battering-ram. 
Again and again came that heavy timber, and to 
the man in the darkness of the little prison cell the 
blows sounded as the strokes of a funeral knell. 
Once more the tie was hurled against the stubborn 
door, and then the timbers gave way, the door hang- 
ing, splintered and wrecked, by one hinge. The 
crucial moment had come, and the preacher was 
amazed at his own coolness as he clutched the poker 
and swung it about his head to measure his dis- 
tance. The men were crowding forward, when the 
leader’s voice sounded. 

“ Wait,” he said. ‘‘ Light the lamp, so you can 
see to drag the cur from his kennel. Take no 
chances in the dark.” 

The wisdom of this advice appealed to them, 
especially as the silence in the room had begun to 
annoy and perplex them. A match rasped across 
the wall and a tiny flame shot up. The lamp, swing- 
ing from the ceiling, was lighted, and a hoarse 
growl went up as the mob caught sight of its prey. 



He simply stood at bay — waiting. — Page 383. 












^ s 


. o 



I/*. !>»- . 

■j - <1^ •, 


:rA- 

* ,f‘ 


SL>fc?i:» < -‘S, 

y ^ , .. % , I 




V, V . . ’ 


‘ • I . * • L •’ ^ ' • 

• ^ ’t v J • 'Vv" .1' 




» • 


. :4^ 'A7»4l 


w. • • ' • #* *■ 

r^*. ^ • V • * •* 


■ V j^ - L r * *1-^ ; y ><v^ 


■ z,-' 

‘?i» »<jc- r , ... , » 


• r 


• • « 


# ^ 


?‘'#"a> 


■ • • ^ > -T> '''’.r 


•« 



i9 




»■ . 3-:z\.. 






L.;*. 


■^-r< 




0 , 


^ V 




ft 


r|» • 












!? . ► 




'.Jl- 


• \ 




i > 


» I 


> '»: 




<y 








f ; ^ i 




k-V * 




♦» 


' 4 V - 

t 

f ^ ^ V*^ 

'■1?.^^. '»■•?..., JL ! ■ ^/-' ••■ „, 

• - V.,.. .s- « ■ -i^p.N 


u 




>? 


^iV 1 *^1 





.'I 


I > 


'1^ 

5r 


iii 


» / 




a-'- -iVT'.-r/-^ ?t.' - 









M»‘. 


' t** ^ V 

yijT- "Jf ‘ 


KuWBfilCaK^ 


t2 



THE MOB 


383 

In a corner he stood, the iron bludgeon poised for 
a blow. The lamplight fell full on his features and 
showed the muscles of his jaw standing out in bold 
relief under the tension of the moment. His face 
was as of graven stone, though his eyes blazed hot. 
Not a word passed his lips. He simply stood at 
bay — waiting. Then the man-hunters surged for- 
ward, the tottering door was kicked aside, and a 
man with a heavy club sprang towards the preacher, 
the club, grasped with both hands far apart, held 
horizontally as a fender. Wayne saw the inten- 
tion, and like a flash he swung the poker with all 
his strength. The man with the club dexterously 
received the blow on the heavy stick, but the crush- 
ing force broke the club, and the poker laid open 
the scalp of the man holding it and sent him to his 
knees. But he had accomplished his purpose. Be- 
fore the preacher could raise his weapon for an- 
other blow, the others were upon him. There was 
a terrible struggle, but there could be but one end- 
ing, and in a brief time he was overpowered and 
a rope bound his arms to his side. The victory 
had not been without price, however, as blood was 
streaming from more than one face from which 
the mask had been torn. The preacher, also, was 
smeared with blood, his flesh being bruised and his 
clothing torn. And now he stood, panting from 
the struggle, his arms bound, but his head erect. 
And still no word from him. 

Damn you, you’ll pay for this,” said one, as 


384 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

the masks were hastily adjusted again. “ Drag 
him out of here ! ” 

The men seized the rope and started towards 
the door, dragging the preacher as they would an 
animal, when suddenly one of the masked men, 
who had been standing apart, gazing steadily at the 
prisoner, sprang forward; a knife flashed in the 
lamplight and the rope parted. 

No! By God, no! he shouted, planting him- 
self between Wayne and the mob. 

There was an instant of surprised silence. Then 
the leader pushed to the front. 

“ He’s a traitor; seize him! ” he cried. 

The man with the knife tore the mask from his 
face. It was the gypsy. He crouched, with stiletto 
upraised, in the lamplight the picture of a devil. 

“You no touch dees man ! I kill de first one 
that come! You hear? Dees man no stab Gordon. 
I stab him ! Dees knife do eet ! ” His words came 
like the venomous hiss of a rattlesnake, and as he 
shook the glittering blade before them the men 
shrank back a step. Wayne’s arms were still bound, 
but with a quick movement the gypsy severed the 
rope. 

“ I say I no forget you, meester ! ” he said, but 
the sudden shift in the affairs had left the preacher 
unnerved, and he staggered back against the wall. 

“ It’s a trick ! The gypsy is lying ! ” The men 
had recovered themselves, and were edging around 
to renew the attack. 

“ No, it’s the truth ! ” 


THE MOB 


385 

The words came from the outer doorway, and 
as the mob turned to meet this new surprise they 
saw Jim Gordon standing on the threshold. His 
hat was missing, his hair was disheveled, and his 
face shone ghastly as he advanced with upraised 
arm. 

Some of you are honest in your belief that 
Robert Wayne attempted my murder, but I say to 
you that I have lied. That night in the woods I 
recognized the gypsy — and there he is ! He 
pointed towards the crouching figure with the knife. 

Yes, I stab you,” said the nomad. You beat 
me, and I swear revenge. Dees man ” (pointing to 
Wayne) ‘‘ save me, and I swear to remember. A 
man hire me to come here and kill who they drag 
out. I come, but I see who he is, and I remember 
he save me. I cut rope and — ” 

The thud of hoofs sounded close by, and the next 
moment Jap Munson sprang into the calaboose, 
closely followed by half a dozen farmers carrying 
shotguns. In Jap’s hand was his beloved black- 
snake, coiled as though ready to spring. 

‘‘Don’t one of you move!” he shouted. “Old 
Blacky will bite the first devil that bats his eye! 
You hear me? You hear me?” 

Wayne laughed. “ It’s all right, Jap,” he called. 
“ We’re just a sociable little party now. But how 
did you get here ? ” 

The rescuing party and the masked men eyed 
each other warily for a time, but gradually the 
“ regulators ” began pulling off their masks and 


386 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

confessing that they had been duped into a piece 
of villainy. 

Rode here, that' s how," responded Munson, 
pushing forward and giving Gordon a sidelong 
glance. “ Rode here because — " He checked him- 
self. “ I reckon I’ll not tell you right here how I 
got the word." He turned his gaze full on Gordon, 
who had sunk into a chair, his face white and 
drawn. 

‘‘ I know — I know ! " whispered Gordon. 

She’s the noblest woman that — " His head 
suddenly dropped, and he would have fallen to the 
floor had not Wayne caught him. 

“ He’s fainted," he said. There’s water in that 
bucket yonder. Bring it, quick ! ’’ 

After a few minutes’ energetic treatment, during 
which Wayne briefly recounted to Munson the 
events of the attack on the calaboose, Gordon re- 
covered sufficiently to stagger to his feet. 

I must go home," he said. “ Help me to my 
horse." 

“ Sit down," said Munson. ‘‘ We’ll haul you 
home. But where’s that gypsy ? ’’ 

He was gone. During the confusion he had 
slipped out of the place and had vanished, never 
more to be seen in that community. The leader 
of the mob, the man with the limp and the drawling 
speech, had also disappeared. Munson faced the men. 

“ Gentlemen," he said, “ Jim Gordon says the 
Parson is not guilty. But he must remain a pris- 
oner, of course, until the law discharges him. He 


THE MOB 


387 

can’t stay here any longer. I’m trustee of this 
township, and therefore, as the only officer present, 
I take charge of the prisoner and will keep him at 
my house. I guess we can all go home now, — 
and, if any of you have any masks in your pockets, 
you had better burn them.” 

One of the men told where Joe was lying, and 
in a few minutes the young farmer was again at 
liberty. 

“ Jaws are a little stiff from that gag, but I guess 
I’m all right,” he said. 

“Joe, you take Gordon home in your sleigh, and 
I’ll get a sleigh and take my prisoner home with 
me,” said Munson, with a laugh. 

During the ride home Gordon was silent, and 
Joe asked him no questions. He helped Gordon 
to the house, the door being opened by Johnson, 
who swore he never knew of anything so surpris- 
ing. Gordon extended his hand, and Joe clasped 
it. Then they parted without a word. 

Munson routed out the liveryman, and soon was 
flying towards home with Wayne by his side. “ I 
didn’t catch all of Lorry’s story,” he was saying. 
“ About all I know is that she came crawling to 
the house through the snow and said the mob was 
to murder you.” 

“ And big-hearted Jap Munson rode to my res- 
cue,” added Wayne, laying his hand on Munson’s 
arm, and brushing away the moisture that crept 
into his eyes. “ Sometimes trouble is worth its 
anxiety because of the friends it proves to us.” 


388 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

‘‘Well, old Blacky needed an airinV responded 
Munson, a little break in his voice. He swallowed 
hard a couple of times, and then blurted out: 
“ Looks like snow. Parson.” 

Wayne smiled, understanding the effort the other 
was making to restrain his emotion. 

“ Hard to tell,” he answered, evasively. The sky 
was clear. 

When they reached Munson’s, they found that 
Joe had preceded them and had told the story of 
the rescue. Lorraine had listened eagerly until he 
declared that Jim Gordon had ridden to the cala- 
boose just in time to end it all. Then she closed 
her eyes and a moan escaped her, lips. Jim Gor- 
don had, after all, accepted her bargain. Under 
its terms she was now his promised wife. 

There was a commotion in another room, and she 
heard Mrs. Munson telling some one to wash the 
blood from his face. A voice she well knew replied 
that it was a mere scratch. They were coming. 
She nerved herself for the meeting. She closed 
her eyes again, and when she opened them Wayne 
stood beside the couch. She smiled and held out 
her hand. He clasped it in both of his. His lips 
parted, but no words came. Then at last he found 
his voice. 

“I — I — can’t find — words,” he faltered. 

She laughed. “ Don’t try, then. It really isn’t 
worth while,” she said, with seeming carelessness. 
She remembered that she was pledged to Jim Gor- 
don. 


CHAPTER XVIIL 

WHEN CHRISTMAS CAME 

D avid DICKSON was unlocking his office 
ir\ Riverside the next morning when a mes- 
senger boy handed him a telegram. It was 
signed by Joe Wilson, and gave a brief account of 
the assault on the calaboose and of Gordon’s dec- 
laration of Wayne’s innocence. With an exclama- 
tion of delight, Dickson bolted for the office of the 
county judge, leaving the key sticking in the door, 
and unheeding the messenger boy’s request for him 
to stop and sign the book. 

Fairly dancing into the judge’s office, the lawyer 
laid the telegram before that official. There was a 
short consultation, and the next train for Craig- 
ville carried Dickson as a passenger. He found 
the village ablaze with excitement over the stirring 
drama that had been enacted within its peaceful con- 
fines, and those who had been recorded in the un- 
friendly list were now the loudest in their vows 
of friendship for the preacher. 

Paragraph saw Dickson at the livery-stable. 
“ The justice who refused to accept bond for the 
Parson got out of town early this morning. Didn’t 
389 


390 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

wait for a train, but drove out,” he said. “ Don’t 
suppose a blind man could fail to see the game that 
was worked to keep Bob where the mob could get 
at him.” 

The news had spread throughout the country, 
and people drove in from miles to see the battered 
calaboose. Indignation grew, and hotheads talked 
of seeking out the members of the mob and wreak- 
ing vengeance on them, but the Dunkards, the quiet, 
even-tempered men of God, went among the tur- 
bulent spirits and calmed the rising storm. Jake 
Hausman caught the spirit of peace, and, with much 
puffing and wheezing, he clambered up on a store 
box and made a short speech, aimed to be a plea 
for respect to law, but in reality a eulogy to “ Par- 
son Wayne,” a speech that abounded in homely 
figures of speech, which, however, glowed with 
earnestness. The air was nipping, but Hausman 
was listened to with attention and was cheered as 
he closed. 

Jake’s gettin’ to be an ‘ Old Man Eloquent,’ ” 
said Timothy Craig. “ Used to be he couldn’t say 
the Lord’s Prayer, because it was too long.” 

Before noon Dickson was in the presence of Jim 
Gordon, and had secured his signed statement that 
Wayne was guiltless of the charge against him. 
The next day an order came from the judge to the 
marshal to release Robert Wayne on his own recog- 
nizance until his formal discharge could be effected 
by due process of law. 

Lorraine was taken home in a buggy by Joe, and, 


WHEN CHRISTMAS CAME 391 

as the young farmer carried the girl into the house, 
the preacher stood in the doorway, battling with 
an impulse to snatch the precious burden and clasp 
her close to his heart while he poured forth the 
story of his love, a love that refused to recognize 
any gulf. But he closed the door after them, and 
then sat silently in an adjoining room while Joe 
laid her on a couch and her mother cried over her. 

The Major came into the room, the tears glis- 
tening in his eyes. The preacher arose and put 
his arm on the other’s shoulder. “ She is the 
noblest work of God,” he said, simply. 

The old man straightened his stooped shoulders 
for a moment, and the tears no longer flowed. 
‘‘ She’s a credit to the Wabash,” he said, proudly. 

In his own room Wayne lighted his pipe and sat 
before the fire. The smoke curled lazily upward 
in fantastic wreaths, but he saw them not. His 
eyes were closed. He saw a Cross, and near it 
an angel with a sceptre of roses. Faintly from 
below he heard the mother’s quavering voice raised 
in sacred song, and he knew her heart was filled 
with praise to God for His mercies. The Cross 
glowed brighter as he harked to the song. Then 
he thought of the tragedy of his life, of his mis- 
takes, and of the false position he had occupied in 
that house. And as he mused a shadow fell on 
the Cross. 

The next morning as the family sat at breakfast, 
they heard a stamping of heavily booted feet; the 
door swung open, and Jap Munson came in. 


392 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

I’ll apologize for not knockin’/’ he said, 
brusquely, “ but I know you don’t care. I’m in 
such a rush that I didn’t think I could spare the 
time to knock. Yes, sir. Major, I’m in a rush.” 

Well, sit down and have some breakfast,” said 
the old man, with a smile. 

“ Nope. Had breakfast, and, besides, I ain’t got 
time. Where’s the Parson ? ” He sat down, tilted 
his chair against the wall, and carefully coiled his 
blacksnake. 

Robert took a vacation and went away last 
evening,” replied the old man. He said he had 
some business affairs he wanted to look after, and 
that he probably would be gone a couple of weeks.” 

“ Reckon we’ll all be glad to see him back,” said 
Munson, meditatively fingering the whip-lash. 
“ He’s mighty popular now — could be elected to 
any office easy as failin’ off a log.” 

‘‘ By the way, Jap, I saw Hiram Owens the other 
day, and he said you two had made up.” 

The little man looked uncomfortable, and fidg- 
eted nervously for a moment. “ Yep, I guess so,” 
he said, at last. 

“And how about the line fence dispute?” 

“ Oh, it’s all settled. But I must mosey along.” 

“ What did you do with your old rail fence, 
Jap?” persisted Joe. 

“ Well, I’ll tell you how it was. There is a sick 
widow over near the river and I had given her all 
the township stuff the law allows. Then one day 
I comes past there and finds her a-shiverin’ around 


WHEN CHRISTMAS CAME 393 

without any wood. I goes home a-thinkin’ mighty 
hard. When I gets there I takes an axe and in a 
couple of hours I had knocked thunder — beg par- 
don, Lorry — out of that rail fence, and split up 
enough to keep her warm a bit. I’m haulin’ her 
another load now.” He uncoiled the blacksnake 
and flicked it at a chair leg. “ An’ that’s the way 
the fence dispute ended,” he added. 

The Major squared around and looked at him 
a moment. ‘‘ Jap,” he said, ‘‘ you’ve got enough 
gold in your heart to make you an ardent McKinley 
man.” 

Munson carefully gathered up his whip again. 

Well, I tell you. Major, hard times are cornin’ 
down the road a-whoopin’ — but they cut across 
the fields to reach the widow. Owens ain’t a bad 
sort. He donated three barrels of potatoes to the 
poor, and I’ve got one barrel of ’em on the wagon 
out yonder along with my old rail fence.” 

A curious flag of truce,” laughed Joe. 

Guess it suits the widow,” responded Munson. 

‘‘How is Mrs. Munson and the children?” in- 
quired Mrs. Wilson. 

“ Sufferin’ and happy,” replied the trustee. 
“ Wife’s got something in her head, and she says 
she knows it’ll be an abscess and that she’ll have to 
have her head cut open. Elihu’s got congestion of 
the stomach, and Johnny’s got” (he scratched his 
head) — “ got something, I disremember just 
what.” 

“ Well, well, it’s too bad,” said Mrs. Wilson, 


394 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

sympathizingly. “ Perhaps I can send her a recipe 
for a home-made remedy that will help her/’ 

“ Much obliged, Pm sure, but Pm afraid it would 
get lost. We ain’t got no good place to keep 
such things. I told wife the other day we needed 
a Bible. By the way. Lorry, I saw some of your 
school kids the other day and they’re anxious to 
have you back. Said that girl that’s substitutin’ 
for you is cross as an X.” 

Lorraine laughed. “ Oh, I’ll soon be back. I 
can handle my crutches now like a professional 
beggar.” 

“ Glad to hear it. But I expect that widow is 
needin’ the wood and potatoes, so I’ll rush along.” 
He sprang to his feet, ducked his red head in a 
jerky bow, and slammed the door behind him. A 
moment later they heard the blacksnake pop and 
heard the fifing of his wagon wheels on the 
snow. 

That afternoon a note came to Lorraine from the 
Gordons, saying that Jim wished to see her. She 
guessed the reason. He wished to assert his claim 
on her. Accompanied by Joe, she drove to the 
place, and they were shown into the room where 
she had knelt at the feet of this man and offered 
herself as a sacrifice. Gordon’s night ride had cost 
him dear, and he now lay tossing in the burning 
fever of a relapse. 

“ Pm glad you’ve come,” he whispered. My 
soul wants peace.” 

Lorraine sat silent, but her wandering gaze noted 


WHEN CHRISTMAS CAME 395 

the bullet-hole in the door, and her cheeks colored. 
Gordon caught the glance, and a wan smile hov- 
ered about his lips. 

I want that hole left,’’ he said. “ I think — 
Christ entered — there.” 

She looked at him in surprise, and Joe coughed 
to stifle his exclamation of wonder. 

‘‘You wanted to see me?” she asked, after an 
interval of silence. 

“Yes — about Robert Wayne. Wait,” he said, 
as she was about to speak. He pointed to the 
door. “ I told you Christ came in at that bullet- 
hole, and I want to tell you that hate left by the 
same route. I am bad sick, but I do not think I 
am going to die, so it is not a death-bed repentance. 
I cannot remember when I did not love you, Lor- 
raine — don’t shrink. When I became a man I 
dreamed of you as my wife. And then Robert 
Wayne came and I saw that my dream was to be 
but a dream. Hate got into my heart and mort- 
gaged me to the Devil. Then the gypsy attacked 
me that night in the woods, and the next day one 
of the Devil’s assistants told me how easy it would 
be to fasten the crime on the preacher, and get him 
out of the way with a mob. I was insane from 
jealousy, I think, but after — 'that” (he pointed 
to the bullet-scarred door) , “ I fell almost fainting 
across the bed, the imps of hell battling for my 
soul. But somehow the words of a sermon I once 
heard Wayne preach came ringing in my ears and 
a strange peace entered my soul. I got up and 


396 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

found that I was murmuring a prayer. I was not 
strong, but I got to my horse and rode to Craigville 
— in time.” 

He paused a moment, and she arose and stood 
by his side. You are too weak,” she said. ‘‘ Tell 
me some other time.” 

“ No, no ! ” he cried. “ I must tell you now — 
now! As I rode I thought of your sacrifice for 
him. I thought of your bleeding face and how you 
had tramped through the snow ; how you had fired 
in his defense after you had offered yourself to me 
as a sacrifice for him. I thought of this, and I 
thanked God that He had sent an angel into the 
world.” There was another bit of silence, and he 
looked steadily at her. ‘‘ I sent for you,” he con- 
tinued, “ that I might remind you of your promise 
to be my wife in case I saved Robert Wayne. 
And — ” 

Her face paled, and she sank into the chair again. 
“ Yes,” she murmured, ‘‘ I thought so.” 

“ And I wish to say — that — I release you from 
it.” There was a break in his voice, and a tear 
crept out of his eyes as he noted the eagerness with 
which she started to her feet, her crutches clasped 
in her trembling hands. ‘‘Never mind,” he said, 
as she poured forth her gratitude. “ You have 
shown me that there is a God in heaven and that 
even Jim Gordon may be a man.” 

And when they left him a new light was in his 
eyes and a cheerful smile brightened his face. 


WHEN CHRISTMAS CAME 397 

Christmas was close at hand. But one day in- 
tervened, and the streets of Riverside were pulsing 
with life. Merry shoppers were hurrying along; 
laugh and jest were everywhere; but as if to show 
the thoughtless, gay throngs that life, after all, is 
but a fleeting vanity, a funeral procession slowly 
traversed the streets. It was a modest affair, just 
the hearse, and then a solitary carriage containing 
the minister, a heavily veiled lady, and a little 
boy. 

The services at the bleak grave were soon ended. 
A sheaf of ripened wheat was tenderly laid on the 
casket by the woman and moistened with her tears ; 
then back through the gay streets the carriage 
wended its way, stopping before a small cottage in 
the outskirts. The minister entered the house with 
the lady and the boy, and, sitting before the fire in 
the tiny parlor, spoke comforting words. 

And he was not your father ? ’’ he asked, in 
surprise. 

The woman shook her head. No,’’ she said, 
sadly, not by blood, but by the kindness and pro- 
tection he was.” 

The minister murmured a few words, but the 
woman did not hear. She was gazing into the fire, 
her head on her hand, her elbow on her knee. 

“ Blind and infirm as he was, he was all we had 
to cling to.” She spoke in an abstracted manner, 
as though unconscious of the presence of an audi- 
tor. ‘‘We had everything in common. He was 
homeless — so was I. He provided a home for 


398 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

me and my boy, and I kept house for him. Little 
Joe sang on the streets while he played.” She went 
to a corner and picked up a violin. “ All he had to 
love in this world was this — and little Joe,” she 
said. The child crept into his mother’s arms and 
cried silently. Even at his tender age, contact with 
the world had made of him a stoic. 

“ And now ? ” asked the minister. 

She clasped her arms tighter about the boy. 
Then she slowly shook her head. “ I don’t know,” 
she said, at last. 

Have you no relatives to whom you can go? ” 

She hesitated. “ I have a father and a mother, 
but my father would not receive me. Once I erred 
— not sinned, mind you, sir — and he renounced 
me. To him I am dead.” 

The minister arose and stood before her. ‘‘ The 
day after to-morrow is Christmas. Christ died on 
the Cross that the mistakes of men might be for- 
given. Surely on that day your father will not 
refuse you.” 

A sudden light shone in her eyes, but only for 
a moment. She turned to the window in silence, 
and soon the minister murmured a good-by and 
tiptoed to the door as though fearing to disturb 
her. He went forth into the joy of the world, 
leaving her alone with her boy and her sorrow. 

A blizzard came with the darkness, and all night 
long there raged one of the worst storms in the 
State’s history, and when daylight struggled 
through the clouds it revealed a desolate scene, 


IV//£N CHRISTMAS CAME 399 

a world of drifts that shifted and changed in archi- 
tecture with the caprices of the storm that still 
raged. And in the afternoon, struggling through 
the snow, came a woman and a little boy. Stagger- 
ing to the door of the Wilson home she knocked 
feebly, and the next moment fell prostrate on the 
floor of the farmhouse. The old man raised her 
in his arms and tore the veil from her face. Then 
his face went white as the snow that clung to her 
garments. 

O God ! ” he gasped. 

“ Mary ! ” It was a scream from the mother 
who stood in the doorway. She tottered forward, 
and flung her arms about the woman. “ My 
daughter ! God is merciful ! ” she sobbed. 

• The old man laid his unconscious burden on a 
couch and then stepped back, his face drawn and 
haggard. 

“ Mother,” he said, and the flint of New Eng- 
land’s hills was in his voice, “ she has fainted. 
Bring her to, and then — and then — ” 

The mother looked up, and a flash was in her 
eye. You shall not send her away!” she cried. 
“ God has given her back to me, and if she leaves 
this house, I go, too ! ” 

There was a movement from the woman on the 
couch, her eyelids fluttered, then opened, and she 
gazed about her. Then she stretched one trembling 
hand towards the old man, but he set his jaws and 
folded his arms. The child, which had been stand- 
ing unheeded close by, stole to his mother’s side, 


400 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

hesitated, and then in a sweet, clear voice began 
to sing: 

“ The storms of life may fiercely blow, 

And sorrow in surging tides may flow, 

Whatever may come, come joy, come woe. 

Still here, here, here, thy refuge forever, forever is here.” 

The old man turned towards the door, his face 
still stern. 

Father ! The word came almost in a whisper 
from the woman on the couch, and he hesitated. 
“Hear me a moment, won’t you?” she -pleaded, 
and he faced about. 

“Well?” he said, and the mother stole to him, 
and laid her hand on his arm. 

The woman sat up. “ Was it sin because I was 
deceived?” she asked, pathetically. “If I am not 
a wife the guilt is not mine. I took the marriage 
vows, but the ceremony was a mockery, a sham. 
Not for months did I learn of this — ” 

A step sounded behind her, and a drawling voice 
interrupted. “ My good people, I am deeply grate- 
ful for your hospitality. I lost my way in that 
blinding storm and certainly would have perished 
had you not taken me in. But now I must thank 
you and go. I feel — ” 

The sentence was not finished. The woman had 
slowly arisen from the couch, and now stood facing 
him. A startled look leaped to his eyes, and he 
faltered in his speech. 

“ Father,” spoke the woman, and her tones were 
clear and cold. “ Fate has sent this man here.” 


WHEN CHRISTMAS CAME 401 

She pointed towards him. ‘‘ There stands George 
Morse — my husband before God ! 

The old man stepped forward with a strange 
sound, a sound that was almost a snarl. But the 
stranger, after the first wavering, gazed at the 
woman unmoved. 

Sir,’' he said, “ if this is your daughter I ex- 
tend my sympathy, as her mind is certainly unbal- 
anced. I never saw her before in my life.” 

“You lie!” 

With a quick movement the woman jerked a 
locket from her bosom and held it open in her up- 
raised hand. It contained the picture of a man. 

“ Father, does not this tell you? ” she asked. 

The old man stared at it a moment; then he 
turned to the wall and snatched from it the shot- 
gun. The mother uttered a shriek and the man 
turned to escape, but the gun had leaped to the old 
man’s shoulder and his finger was on the trigger. 
But the outer door had opened unnoticed and 
Robert Wayne stood on the threshold. In his hand 
he clutched a paper. He saw the impending 
tragedy, saw the glittering eye glancing along the 
gun-barrel, and sprang forward just in time to 
thrust the paper beneath the descending hammer, 
and the cartridge failed to explode. 

“ Don’t I ” he said to the Major. Then he 
turned to the other. “ George Morse, or John 
Ormand, if you like that better, thank your God 
for that paper. Once it stood between you and a 
crime ; now it has stood between you and death ! ” 


402 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

“ What paper ? ’’ asked Morse, his lips white. 

Wayne withdrew it from beneath the hammer, 
and spread it out. ‘‘ A marriage license,” he said, 
“ issued to George A. Morse and Mary L. Wilson.” 

“ Well, what of it? ” The tone was defiant. 

“What of it? It means that Mary Lorraine 
Wilson is your wife!” 

A harsh laugh broke from the other’s lips. 
“Then who is this woman?” he asked. 

For the first time Wayne turned to look at the 
woman who stood with the child at her side, and 
an exclamation of astonishment escaped him. 
Before him stood the image of Lorraine. 

“ I am Mary L. Wilson,” she said. “ And you ” 
— she suddenly caught her breath and stepped 
closer — “ you are the man who performed the 
mock marriage! ” 

In an instant the old man’s fingers were clutch- 
ing at the preacher’s throat, his strength being 
that of a maniac. 

“Traitor! Dog!” he muttered, as his fingers 
tightened. 

Wayne struggled desperately, and finally broke 
the other’s clutch, and then, exerting all of his 
strength, he pinioned the old man’s arms to his 
sides.‘ 

“ For the love of God, Major, be calm a mo- 
ment ! ” he gasped. “ I am not guilty of this 
charge.” 

The old man’s strength deserted him as suddenly 
as it had come, and he sank weakly into a chair. 


WI/BN CHRISTMAS CAME 403 

During the struggle Morse had sprung to the door 
and hurried away, unheeded. Wayne wiped the 
perspiration from his brow, and then turned to the 
woman who had denounced him. 

“ I am the man who pronounced the ceremony,” 
he said, “ but I swear that the marriage was legal.” 

She clutched at his arm with a cry of joy. 
“ What ? ” she cried. “ Say that again ! ” 

“ I declare the marriage legal. I was a duly 
accredited minister and you are a wife in the sight 
of the law.” 

“ But he told me that it was all a sham — that 
you were not an ordained minister.” 

“ Yes,” he said, “ I know all that. And he be- 
lieved it to be true at the time. He intended that it 
should be a mockery, but he found out later that 
it was legal.” 

The old man stumbled forward. ‘‘ Bob,” he 
said, weakly. “ Bob, we owe you everything, 
then.” 

Wayne’s face was pale again, but his voice was 
steady. “ You owe forgiveness to your daughter,” 
he said, simply. 

“ Yes,” replied the old man, ‘‘ I remember your 
sermon, ‘ The Rose and the Thorn,’ and I wondered 
how you chanced to be preaching at me. As for 
Mary — ” He turned and held out his arms to 
her, and with a sob of delight she sprang into his 
embrace. 

“ Bob,” said the old man again. “ I reckon you’ll 
have to explain it all some other time. Joe and 


404 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

Lorraine are over to Munson’s, and mother and 
I can’t understand just now.” 

Wayne bowed and turned away. Slowly he as- 
cended the stairs and entered his own room. Then 
he fell on his knees, and a silent prayer was offered 
up. His head was bowed on his hands, his eyes 
were closed, and before him appeared the Cross, 
and the spotless purity of Christ was reflected 
thereon. He had conquered self with duty and the 
shadow was gone. 

He sat before the fire and tried to get intelligence 
from the sudden chaos. Mary L. Wilson! And, 
after all, it was not Mary Lorraine ! But how like I 
The mystery was not yet solved, but his heart was 
bounding at the thought of Lorraine’s freedom. 
But his past ! Was it not such as would leave him 
dishonored in her eyes? But it was finished now. 
His journey to the South had been successful and 
the marriage proofs were now where they be- 
longed. It only remained for him to go. 

The afternoon wore away and the early winter 
twilight deepened as he sat there, brooding. A 
step sounded on the stairs, and he looked up to see 
Lorraine standing in the doorway, and through 
the dusk he saw that she was smiling. She ad- 
vanced with outstretched hand, and he started to 
his feet. 

“ I want to welcome you home — and to thank 
you,” she said, and paused. 

He bowed. “ It is good of you,” he said, but 
this family owes me no thanks.” 


WHEN CHRISTMAS CAME 405 

“ We are proud of you, Mr. Wayne.” Her 
words sounded strangely formal. 

“ But you will have nothing but contempt after 
I tell you all.” 

She ignored the remark. ‘‘ And to think that 
you should be with us all these months and the 
secret just now be revealed.” 

He flushed with guilt. “ I could not always see 
my duty clearly, and — sometimes — I closed my 
eyes to duty. And then the Cross was shad- 
owed.” 

She looked at him in a puzzled manner. ‘‘ Mary 
and I are twins,” she said, apparently at random. 
“ Frequently we were mistaken for each other.” 

“ Yes,” he said, and the word came almost in a 
whisper. The entire tangle was becoming clear. 

‘‘ Father was stem,” she continued, slowly. 
“ When he heard that Mary had dishonored him, 
as he thought, he forbade the mention of her name. 
You found her picture once, in a book, and thought 
it was I.” 

He nodded. “ I remember,” he said. 

“ And you saw her in Riverside with the little 
boy and the blind violinist the night of the rally. 
When you returned and said you thought you had 
seen me, I knew that she must be near. And one 
night she came clear out here and stood out in the 
road during a storm, watching us through the win- 
dows.” 

‘'Joe saw her by a lightning flash,” he said. 
" He found her handkerchief.” 


406 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

And now father has taken her back, and we 
are all so happy, so happy! ” 

He sat down, his face gray and haggard. I 
am glad I got back when I did,” he said. ‘‘ I drove 
through from Riverside in order to get here for 
Christmas. The struggle was over and I had done 
my duty. I had thought that if I remained silent 
I might win — ^that is — well, duty won in the 
struggle with self. But I feel a deep responsibility 
for the heartaches of this family.” 

‘‘ You responsible? How?” 

“ By performing the supposed mock marriage.” 
He paused a moment, and then continued in a tone 
of sudden resolution : ‘‘ I must tell the truth. I 
knew George Morse to be a scoundrel — but he 
had no reason to suspect that I was a minister. I 
had not preached for a year when I met him, and 
I had fallen to his own level. I was dissolute, and 
the wine-cup was in my hand oftener than the 
Bible. I was drunk the night he told me he was to 
be married. He said he had the license all right 
and wanted me to play preacher. I remembered 
afterwards how he laughed when he made the pro- 
posal, and he ordered a fresh bottle of wine to 
moisten the joke, he said, though I didnh exactly 
understand the joke part then. But in my be- 
fuddled condition, I said, ‘ All right,’ and asked 
no questions. He gave me the license and took 
me somewhere in a carriage,- and there I found — 
her. I performed the marriage and went away, 


WHEN CHRISTMAS CAME 407 

taking the license with me, and the next day I was 
sober enough to have it recorded.” 

The girl was standing with clasped hands, 
drinking in his words. 

I know you must hate me,” he said. 

She stepped forward and leaned on the centre- 
table. “ No,” she replied. “ Don’t you see that 
you saved us? Had George Morse known that you 
were a minister he would have procured the services 
of some one else.” 

He looked up quickly. “ Then you do not hold 
me responsible?” he asked. 

‘‘ No. But why did you not make this known 
years ago? ” 

He arose, and paced the room a moment. “ Be- 
cause,” he said, “ when I learned that the marriage 
was supposed to be a sham I was — a convict.” 

She caught her breath with a cry. A convict? ” 

The lines of his face were deepening. “ Yes,” 
he replied, but an innocent one — before God, an 
innocent one ! That was also the .work of Morse. 
He wanted to get rid of me, so he gave me a bank 
check, and afterwards swore it was a forgery. His 
money sent me to prison. While there I learned 
that the marriage was supposed to be fraudulent. 
I told the truth then, but no one would believe a 
convict or investigate my story. I was three years 
in that earthly hell, and then one night I escaped. 
For days they hunted me with bloodhounds, but 
they failed. Then, one day, I was passing down 
the street of a city, when a runaway came dashing 


4o8 hearts and THE CROSS 

towards me with women in the carriage, screaming. 
Somehow I stopped the team, but they picked me 
up unconscious. The ladies had me taken to their 
home, and when I opened my eyes I found myself 
in the governor’s home. I had saved his wife and 
daughter. I finally confessed to him that I was an 
escaped convict, and he took me to his office. I 
sat there expecting the officers to claim me, but in 
a few moments he handed me a paper and a roll of 
bills. I refused the money, but I took the paper. 
I have it here.” He drew it from his pocket. “ It 
is a pardon.” 

She had walked to the window and was looking 
out, but he knew that she was listening, and con- 
tinued : 

‘‘ Then I again began my search for Morse, but I 
heard that he had been killed in a railroad wreck. 
I did not want to go back to the place where I had 
been convicted, for even a guilty man may carry 
a pardon. I was alone in the world, and in despera- 
tion I turned tramp until the trainmen put me off 
at Willow Creek water-tank. Then Joe offered me 
a hope, and that night I saw you in the moonlight 
and thought you were the one I had married to 
Morse.” 

The voice of the old mother was heard calling 
Lorraine, and without a word she turned and left 
the room. When they called him to supper he an- 
swered that they must excuse him; he did not care 
to eat. Then the Major ascended the stairs and 
found him packing his trunk. 


WHEN CHRISTMAS CAME 409 

“What does this mean, Robert?” he asked. 

Wayne was on his knees before the trunk. “ It 
means,” he replied, “ that I am doing the only thing 
left to do — getting ready to go away.” 

“ Why, you have just come back ! ” 

“ Yes, but I must go now — and not come back.” 

The old man advanced and laid his hand on the 
preacher’s head. 

“ Don’t say that,” he said. “ You mustn’t leave 
us. Bob. You’ve drawn the flint from my soul, 
and brought me closer to God. I know there isn’t 
much of a future here, but the little church needs 
you.” There was a break in his voice. 

“ It isn’t the money. I have some of my own — 
down on the Suwanee, and I am free to claim it 
now. But you don’t know about — ” 

“ Yes, I do. We all know. Lorraine told us. 
You’ve got the governor’s pardon for a crime you 
did not commit. If you have God’s pardon for the 
mistakes you did make, what more can man or the 
angels ask?” 

The dawn of Christmas found the storm stilled, 
but the landscape looked unfamiliar with its deep 
snow covering. Early the chore boy was sent 
floundering through the drifts, on the back of a 
farm-horse, to announce a Christmas service at 
Walnut Grove. 

The organ was heard in the parlor, and little Joe 
made believe that his grandfather was a horse, and, 
sitting astride the old man’s shoulders, used his 
ears for lines, or else he romped on the floor with 


410 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

his Uncle Joe, and played with the toys the stalwart 
young farmer had braved the storm of the night 
before to bring from Craigville. 

Paragraph and Susanna drove up and came 
stamping in, bringing with them a breath of winter. 

“ Oh, the snow lies deep to-day along the Wabash,” 

sang Paragraph, and then darted forward to shake 
hands with Mary, whom Susanna was already em- 
bracing. Then he turned to Wayne. 

“ Parson,” he said, one day last June I called 
you a rara avis, and it was good Latin, too, but now 
I haven’t enough of that deceased lingo in my 
cranium to say just what I want to, so Pll do the 
American way and shake your hand. Joe told it 
all to me last night, and I reckon that from now 
on the moonlight will be a little fairer along the 
Wabash. But wait! Here’s a letter for you. A 
fellow stopped into my office last evening and wrote 
it. We didn’t need any introduction, for I threw 
him out of the Sun office one time. Said for me 
to hand it to you.” 

The preacher broke the seal, and an exclamation 
of surprise escaped him. The note was brief. It 
read: 


Craigville, Ind., December 24. 
'‘To Whom It May Concern: — I hereby ac- 
knowledge Mary Louise Wilson as my lawful wife. 
As such she is entitled to share my property. I 
also declare Robert Wayne innocent of the forgery 


IV/fEN CHRISTMAS CAME 411 

charge on which he was convicted. I never expect 
to cross the path of either of these parties again. 

“ (Signed) George Morse.” 

The little church at the crossroads was crowded, 
and when Wayne walked to the pulpit he was 
greeted first by a waving of handkerchiefs, and 
then by an outburst of hand-clapping, an ovation 
that caused his eyes to moisten and his lips to quiver 
as he faced the sturdy, honest congregation. 

The service was a simple one. He told them 
of the birth of the Savior, of how He had been a 
man among men, living the one perfect life in the 
midst of the world’s temptations. He talked of the 
scene on Calvary, and in unstudied eloquence told 
how Christ had suffered crucifixion in order that 
men might be saved. As he closed with a fervid 
prayer, the Major started Jesus, Lover of My 
Soul,” and, as Wayne looked out over the audience, 
he saw the old mother’s face radiant with God’s 
peace. The last verse was finished, and the preacher 
had raised his hand in benediction, when a man 
arose from a rear seat. It was Jim Gordon. 

“ Wait a minute ! ” he exclaimed, and then strode 
up the aisle, while a hush fell on the people. Reach- 
ing the front, he turned and faced them. 

“ I want to say that the Christ who died on the 
Cross is living in my heart, and I wish to unite 
with His people under the leadership of this man. 
Rev. Robert Wayne.” He turned and reached out 


412 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

his hand to Wayne, and the latter clasped it in a 
warm grip. 

About the church door the people clustered to 
exchange greetings, and to extend a welcome home 
to Mary Wilson and to the minister. Timothy 
Craig was there, his freckled face aglow with hap- 
piness. He squeezed Wayne’s hand until the joints 
cracked. 

“ By jing! Parson, this thing’s better’n any puz- 
zle picture I ever looked at. Jake Plausman and 
Bill Ward couldn’t come, but they sent their 
' Howdy ’ to you.” 

Jap Munson rushed up and slapped him on the 
back. “ I’m in a rush, Parson,” he said. “ Wife’s 
home threatened with the lockjaw, and the kids 
have all got new pains for Christmas, but I ’lowed 
they’d peg along while I rushed over to see you 
a bit. But I’ll have to hurry along, for Hiram 
Owens and his family are cornin’ over to eat turkey 
with us, lockjaw or no lockjaw. An’ say! Owens 
is a politician out of sight ! We’ve agreed to forget 
about ’73, and I’m goin’ to fetch him out for road 
supervisor next time and manage his campaign for 
him.” He shook hands twice, bobbed his red head 
this way and that, and hurried away, the pop of his 
blacksnake sounding sharp on the crisp air. 

Wayne found himself beside Lorraine. “ I have 
a reckless notion to walk home through the woods,” 
he said, and am trying to summon courage to ask 
you to defy the snow and walk with me.” 

“ Surely a Hoosier cannot shrink from the snow 


IV/fBN CHRISTMAS CAME 413 

a Southerner seeks/’ she replied, laughing, and he 
read his answer in her speech. 

There were so many things to talk about, but, 
somehow, they walked mostly in silence, the sen- 
tences they uttered sounding formal and strained. 
They passed through the woods, circling about the 
deeper drifts and braving the smaller ones. 

“ The old sugar-camp,” he said, as the cabin 
came in view. Then they peeped inside and saw 
the same chunk on which Lorraine had stood to 
escape the waters of the June storm. 

“ How different — then and now.” It was the 
girl who spoke, and she stepped inside. 

A sudden gust of wind sifted the snow through 
the dilapidated roof and sprinkled her head. 

A crown of purity on the brow of an angel 
who once held a sceptre of roses,” he said. 

She looked up quickly, and a warm glow stole 
to her cheeks. He stepped to her side. 

“ It was a sudden speech, but I’ll finish it now. 
Can’t you see that I love you, Lorraine, that all the 
way here I’ve been trying to tell you ? ” 

She turned slowly towards him. The radiance 
of a great love was in her eyes, and a smile was 
on her lips. The next moment she was in his arms 
and was laughing and crying her happiness. They 
went out of the hut hand in hand and walked a 
moment in silence. 

“ Robert,” she said, and the name was music to 
his ears, “ why did you not tell me long ago that 
that marriage was legal ? ” 


414 HEARTS AND THE CROSS 

He slipped his arm about her and looked into her 
eyes. '' Because/' he said, I thought it was you 
— and I could not give you up." 

Across the fields of snow a farm bell sounded. 

“ The chimes of Christmas," she said, ‘‘ proclaim- 
ing Christ’s message, ‘ On earth peace, toward men 
good-will.’ ’’ 


THE END. 


Ct)e Hoss of Eittle arcati^ 


By HARRY LEON WILSON Full page and text illus- 
trations by ROSE CECIL O’NEILL lamo Cloth $1.50 



BOSS/’ whose title has been bestowed 


partly in jest, is the editor of a weekly paper 
of a typical village in the Middle West. The real 
hero of the book is his staunch friend, though his 
rival in love. The story is told by the friend, who 
left the village at the call of the Civil War, returning 
as Major to resume his law practice and to figure in 
a delightfully told romance. The humor is every- 
where present and of a very high order. 

SOME PRE.SS OPINIONS 

“ ‘The Boss of Little Arcady’ is one to be enjoyed in 
every page for its genuine humor, its sly satire without a 
touch of malice, and the story of love and friendship which 
runs through it and ends happily.” — Cleveland Plain Dealer. 

“ ‘The Boss of Little Arcady’ is clever, with a cleverness 
that is not forced, and with a crispness that seems to belong 
to it and which has the flavor of spontaneity.” 


Brooklyn Eagle. 


“It is a story to be read a second time; if not wholly, then 
in part. The result for the reader is one of the best things 
that life affords— a book that delights, quickens the sympa- 
thies and revivifies the quiescent good in one’s nature.” — 
Minneapolis Journal. 

“Not a dull line in it from cover to cover.” — The Advance., 
Chicago. 

“The simpler and sweeter things of life hold sway in Little 
Arcady and the Boss is lovably original.’’ — Chicago 
Evening Post. 

“Reading this story is like living among people whom we 
have known at some time or other, and the charm of the 
book is in its character descriptions. It is one of the best 
novels of the year.” — Philadelphia Inquirer. 


Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. ^ Boston 


A Daughter 
of the South 

By GEORGE CART EGGLESTON 
Illustrated by E. Poliak Decorated Cover ^ $ 1-50 

T he action of the story lies in the region of the 
lower Mississippi river, from Cairo to New 
Orleans, and its time is the period near the 
end of the Civil War, after the great river was opened 
to navigation, but when its banks and bayous were still 
vexed with hostilities, and the greedy lawlessness of 
speculators who gave to their business a good deal of 
the character of crime. It has for its heroine a young 
woman of high breeding and high character, proud, 
passionate and duty loving, a woman who thinks clear- 
ly, feels strongly and acts in obedience to her own 
convictions without any shadow of fear or shrinking 
from the consequences of right doing. 

“In painting Southern romances, George Cary Eggleston is at 
his best, and his latest book, ‘A Daughter of the South,’ has the 
same sweet, pure flavor of love and heroism that characterized his 
popular novel, ‘Dorothy South.’ ” — St. Paul Dispatch. 

“It is a charming story, full of delicacy and sweetness, and the 
picture the author gives of the closing months of the great struggle 
is well drawn .” — Brooklyn Daily Eagle. 

“As pretty a tale of Southern chivalry and Northern devotion as 
any one need ask to read is ‘A Daughter of the South,’ with its 
picture of wartime conditions which no Southerner who lived 
through them will ever forget. ” — Milwaukee Free Press. 


Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. 

BOSTON 






5 


. « 



1 




4 


¥ 


4 ' 

i 

1 

<1 

,1 


f 

$ 





























